


The Zorya

by eirenical (chibi1723)



Series: The Trinity Arc [3]
Category: Hair - MacDermot/Rado/Ragni
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, But it's been so long since I wrote it, Families of Choice, Family, Family Drama, Family Issues, Holidays, Homophobic Language, Kid Fic, Meeting the Parents, Multi, Past Drug Use, Past Torture, Period-Typical Homophobia, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, This probably needs other tags, Threesome - F/M/M, Veterans, Vietnam War, Who even knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-01
Updated: 2010-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-26 04:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 62,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9862901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi1723/pseuds/eirenical
Summary: Berger and Sheila are a broken triangle, desperately missing their third side.  But is Claude well enough to fill his usual place?  Only time will tell.





	1. Zorya Utrennyaya

**Author's Note:**

> **_February 21, 2017:_** Been having some resurgence of Hair feels and I just realized I never posted this here, so... I thought I'd get on that? Anyway, this was the story with which I proved I could do NaNo, and the year-long burnout from which proved to me that I never wanted to do it again. But hey, at least I know I can, right? ^_^
> 
> (This story is presented in its original format, script style conversations with with characters at the ends of the chapters, cheesy chapter summaries, and all. I'm sorry if that offends you, but I found that it filled me with pleasant nostalgia to read it that way, so I kept every bit of cheesiness. ^_~)
> 
> Originally posted here on my [DW](http://rchan.dreamwidth.org/136183.html)/[LJ](http://rchan.livejournal.com/141374.html)
> 
> * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you've been hearing about it all month, this monster sequel to the Algea that I've been working on for NaNoWriMo. Well, wait no longer! This beast is finally finished! Of course... the timeline was originally supposed to run from the beginning of November until New Year's... but I only managed to reach the day after Thanksgiving. Granted, it took me 62,249 words to _reach_ the day after Thanksgiving, but still. ^_^ This is officially my longest fic yet and I didn't want to push it or rush it to make the timeline fit in a reasonable fic length. So, there will be a third story in the Trinity-verse. Possibly not for a few months yet, though. O_O I have too much schoolwork that I pushed off for NaNo and I'm possibly a little burnt out after this. I've been enjoying the creativity so much that I don't want to ruin it. ^_~
> 
>  **Title:** The Zorya  
>  **Fandom:** Hair, the musical: 2009 Revival  
>  **Pairing:** Berger/Claude/Sheila  
>  **Rating:** PG-13 for some kissing, really very mild stuff, though... even for me.  
>  **Word Count:** 62,249, **Part 1:** 6,029  
>  **Warnings:** Slash (as always ^_^), angst
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Neither the musical nor the boys belong to me, if they did they'd be groping each other on sta--. *pause* *blinkblink* Huh. Look at that... they do. *eg* :D _((Hair was written by James Rado and Gerome Ragni with music by Galt MacDermot.))_
> 
>  ** _December 1, 2010:_** Timeline note -- This story takes place in the "Trinity Arc" universe, roughly 3 months after the Algea. That places it starting in early November and running through the end of November. As noted, it was originally supposed to cover a much wider span of time... so I ended up leaving a plot thread dangly. It's in the middle and you can't miss it. Sorry about that. O_O I _will_ wrap it up in the next story though, I promise. In fact... the entirely _of_ the next story will be wrapping up that loose thread. Please don't hurt me?

One and a half years. It seemed like such a small amount of time when you thought about it that way, so innocuous. One and a half years. But one and a half years was also eighteen months... 78 weeks... 547 days. With each successive thought Claude's heart rate kicked up another notch. It was so easy to let the days blend together, to forget how long he'd been in this damned hospital. Normally he tried not to think about it for exactly this reason. With a quiet whimper he bent over, put his head between his knees and started doing the breathing exercises that Dr. Howard had painstakingly taught him, all the while praying that this time they would work.

They didn't, but after a few moments, his ragged breathing started to calm, his heartbeat slowing to a more natural rhythm, nonetheless. Why? Because of the warmth of one hand gently rubbing circles on his lower back. Tired brown eyes raised to meet worried green. He dredged up a smile from somewhere and said quietly, "Thanks."

Berger gave him a distracted smile in return as he removed his hand, "No problem, Claudio. You wanna tell me what that was about?"

With a weary sigh, Claude leaned back on the bench and turned his eyes skyward. And Berger, bless him, didn't push. He never did. He gave Claude whatever time, whatever space he needed -- not like Dr. Howard with his endless questions, or his parents with their endless demands, or even Sheila with her almost desperate need for him to be the man he'd been four years ago when he'd left for Viet Nam. No, Berger just let him be exactly who he was at this moment, no pressure, no expectations. And the only thing he asked in return was for Claude to let him be near him. It was such a huge gift for what Claude secretly thought was a pitifully small return and it meant that when _Berger_ asked these questions he always at least tried to answer. Once he'd had a few minutes to breathe, he turned back to Berger, "I... I'm just so tired of being here."

Berger twined their fingers together as his eyes filled with sympathy, "Oh, Claudio... I would be, too. But Dr. Howard doesn't think you're ready to leave, yet."

A soft snort was Claude's response to that, "Dr. Howard also didn't think I was ready to brave the main floor of the hospital, but I did. He didn't think I would ever speak again, but I did. So, that he doesn't think that I have enough of the basic human capacity to take care of myself to leave this hospital... let's just say that I don't hold his opinion in very high regard, right now."

And that hand was back, rubbing its soothing little circles, "I know, Claude. I know... but this is different, bigger. You know that. Hell, you've only really been lucid these last couple of months. All that fantastic progress you've made is so new... what if you have a relapse?"

Making an irritated noise, Claude pushed himself off the bench and started to pace. Eventually he turned back to Berger, frustration tightening every line of his body, "Well, what if _you_ do?" Before Berger could answer, he continued, "No one asks that, do they? You and Sheila are too busy worrying about me, but it's just as valid a question if we're going to walk this road, isn't it?"

Swallowing hard against a suddenly dry mouth, Berger asked, "What do you mean?"

Claude sighed, sat down again beside Berger on the bench, "In all these months you've been visiting, I haven't once seen you high, Banana-Berger. Something scared you sober -- and that's a _good_ thing -- but I can see the strain it's putting on you. So... what if _you_ relapse? I only have myself to drag under if I go down. You... Berger, you've got Cheryl to consider, now."

As he got up to do some pacing of his own, Berger asked, "Who told you? Did Sheila tell you?"

Claude shook his head, caught at Berger's hand as he walked by. Pulling him back down beside him, Claude raised a hand to cup his cheek, "Love... she didn't have to. I _know_ you, Berger. You fell apart when I... left -- you told me so yourself -- did some pretty hardcore drugs. And now you don't even smoke pot anymore. It stands to reason that something scared you straight." Meeting Berger's eyes head-on, he offered the other man a soft smile, "If I was a betting man, I'd put my money on Cheryl."

Berger smiled sheepishly back, shrugged, "Is it really that obvious?" At Claude's knowing smile, Berger rolled his eyes, "Yeah, I guess it is." He sighed, "But it's not the same thing, Claude. You know it's not." When Claude tried to pull his hand away, Berger clutched it closer, forced Claude to stay with him, "You don't... I don't know how much you remember about those days, Claude, but _I_ remember. You... Jesus, Claude, it was horrible." Swallowing hard, he said, "Some days you were more animal than human. I don't think you understood more than half of what we said to you... and you were violent, _really_ violent. You injured several of the orderlies and I think you actually tried to kill your father once. It wasn't _you_ , but... it was, you know?" Seeing that he had the other man's attention, Berger relaxed his grip, "And that wasn't so long ago. Two months? Four, at most? All this progress you've made, it's great... but I can see why they're afraid that it won't hold. What happens if they let you leave here and someone startles you into a flashback out on the street?" Grabbing Claude's face in his hands, Berger leaned forward until their foreheads were touching, "I don't want to be visiting you in jail, Claudio."

After a moment of silent communion, Claude slumped, "I guess you're right. I just... Berger, I _feel_ fine. I feel normal. All of that other stuff... you're right, I don't really remember it. And that's a blessing, really, but... You know what? I don't have a good answer for you. But to toss you back another 'What if?' -- What if nothing happens? Who decides when enough time has passed that it's 'safe' to let me out on the streets? What if they _never_ decide it's safe? I just... Berger, I want to go home." And if that last statement came out more plaintive than he would have liked... well, so be it.

Berger slid his arm around Claude, pulled his head down to rest against his shoulder and cradled him close, "Well... I don't want you stuck _here_ forever, either. That's no better than prison." He fell silent for a moment, pulling his thoughts together. Claude just stayed quiet, letting Berger have the time he needed to think it through and hopefully come to the right conclusion. Eventually, Berger smiled, "We'll talk to Dr. Howard, tell him what you just told me. And if he can't come up with a damned good reason to keep you here, we're busting you out."

At those words, Claude pressed himself a little closer, finally let go of the tension that had been zinging through him since they started this conversation, "Thanks."

Berger sighed as he carded his hands thought Claude's hair, then let out a little laugh, "No sweat, Claudio. Dear Dr. Howard and I haven't butted heads in a while. We're long overdue."

* * *

Later that afternoon, Claude had to admit that he was impressed. Berger and Dr. Howard had managed to keep the conversation civil for almost ten minutes before it devolved into a shouting match. And, to be fair, they'd moved back out into the hall when that happened. It was just that they were loud enough even out there that he could still hear them clearly even through the wall, and a not so small part of him was fighting the urge to retreat to his corner and hide from the anger spewing forth from the hallway. The only thing keeping him from actually following through on that impulse was the knowledge that if Dr. Howard caught him doing it, any chance they had of gaining the man's cooperation would evaporate like so much smoke.

Finally, after another twenty minutes had passed and the argument outside had devolved further still to name calling, Claude couldn't take it anymore. He stalked over to the door, quietly opened it, stepped out into the hallway, then slammed it shut behind him as loudly as he could. Both of the other men immediately fell into a stunned silence. Into the quiet, voice deceptively calm, Claude hissed out, "That is enough. Dr. Howard, you are a doctor, a professional. Could you G-d damned _act_ like one instead of like a spoiled child who thinks he's getting his favorite toy taken away?"

As Berger's expression stretched into a satisfied smirk, Dr. Howard could only gape. As his mouth worked and no further sound emerged, Berger started to snicker. Claude merely continued to hold his gaze. Finally Dr. Howard spluttered out, "You... you're talking!"

Claude raised an eyebrow and let his lips slide into a smirk of their own, "Rather more eloquently than you at the moment, I'd dare say."

The doctor turned back to Berger and narrowed his eyes accusingly, "I thought we were working _together_."

Berger shrugged, "We are. We both want what's best for Claude. And what's best for him right now isn't wasting away in a hospital talking this thing to death with you. He needs to get back out in the world and _live_ , man. I know you're worried about what could happen, but even if you keep him here another ten years, you're never going to know how he's going to react to being back out in the real world unless you let him get out into it. Can't you see that?"

Dr. Howard stared back and forth between the two of them for another few minutes and finally slumped. Turning back to Claude he said quietly, "You know I'm only trying to protect you, right?"

Sensing victory around the corner, Claude let himself relax a fraction. Raising a hand to grip Dr. Howard's shoulder, he said, "I know. And I appreciate that, I truly do, but you can't protect me forever. You've already done more for me than most others in your position would have. Most other psychiatrists would have thrown me into an institution somewhere then thrown away the key and washed their hands of me. You didn't. Instead, you gave me a chance to get better. You allowed the one person who could help me to stay by my side when by all rights you should have thrown him out that first day. You've done right by me and I've no complaints, but Dr. Howard, it's time to let me go. We're never going to know if this foundation will hold unless we try to build on top of it, right?"

By halfway through that speech, the doctor had a small, yet proud smile on his face. By the end of it, he huffed out a short laugh and shook his head. Ruefully, almost under his breath, he muttered, "Jesus, you must have been a force to be reckoned with before all of this."

Claude tightened his grip on the man's shoulder until he raised his head to meet Claude's smirking eyes. Claude then bared his teeth ever so slightly and said simply, "I still am. And I want a chance to prove it."

Dr. Howard met his eyes for another endless moment, then smiled, "OK. OK, you can stop now. I'm convinced. I'll go get the paperwork started to release you back into your parents' custody."

Claude's eyes immediately flared wide in panic and he flung up a hand to stay the doctor's leaving, but the man was already gone. Berger caught at his hand and brought his other hand up to Claude's face to turn him to face him, "Claudio. Breathe. Just breathe. I'll go straighten this out." Seeing Claude's eyes still glazed, Berger cursed under his breath. Sliding his hand from Claude's cheek to the back of his neck, he gave the man a small shake, " **Claude**. I'm not going to let this happen, but you've gotta trust me, man. Take a deep breath, go sit down and I'll have this sorted as soon as I go talk to him." Seeing the light of understanding go on behind Claude's eyes, Berger let out a breath of relief, "But I've gotta walk away from you to do it and I'm not leaving until I know you're OK."

Claude nodded, breath still harsh but eyes finally aware again, "I'm OK. I'm OK. Just go. I'll wait here."

Berger held his gaze for another two minutes, searching, before finally releasing his grip. He nodded once, then turned to take off after Dr. Howard. Claude, meanwhile, got himself back into his room and started furiously pacing. He couldn't... He just couldn't go back to live in his parents' home. The suffocation he'd felt in the life they'd tried to force on him was the pebble that had started this avalanche of events to begin with. He and his father... Good G-d, he'd kill the man before he even had a chance realize what he was doing.

What other alternatives were there, though? Berger, Sheila and Cheryl were a nice little nuclear family, now. In spite of how warm and open and happy they'd been to have him back, he didn't belong there. He would only be intruding. There was Jeanie... but he couldn't do that to her, not after he'd rejected her so often in the past. It wouldn't be right to come to her now, only when he needed something. Hud... Hud might be willing to take him in... no. No, Berger had said that he and Dionne were living together now, considering marriage. He couldn't intrude on them any more than he could Berger and Sheila. Damn it.

Before he'd even realized what he was doing, his furious pacing had started to aim itself... one corner to the other corner and back again. Pause. Press his head into the corner, try to stave off the pain centering in his temples. Trapped. He was feeling trapped. Pause at the window, stare out at the fading afternoon light. Eying the ground. He could make it. He wouldn't even hurt himself too badly from this height. He could be on the ground and off into the wilderness of the city before...

 _What the hell am I thinking?_ Pulling his thoughts up short, Claude froze, pressed against the glass and shaking. So easy. It was so easy to slip backwards, to fall into the seductive pull of that animalistic thinking. _Oh, sweet Jesus, no wonder Dr. Howard is so concerned about letting me out of here._

He had no idea how long he stood there after that, mind racing and heart pounding, trying to keep himself centered in the here and now, trying to keep his thoughts human and coherent. All he knew was that when Berger finally returned, he still didn't have a handle on it and he was ready to bury himself in the corner and never emerge.

Always sensitive to Claude's moods, Berger sensed the severity of this one and edged himself closer, one hand outstretched like he was trying to calm a wild animal. Seeing that, Claude let out a hoarse bark of a laugh that devolved quickly into a mild fit of hysterics. Berger stopped his advance, eyes full of worry, hand still outstretched in entreaty. After a few moments, Claude raised his own hand to grip Berger's and gave it a light squeeze. Voice harsh with tightness, he grated out, "I'm OK. No. No, actually I'm not... but close enough for government work, I suppose."

At that, Berger gave him an obligatory chuckle and pulled him into his arms. Claude went willingly, tucked his head against Berger's shoulder with a weary sigh. Berger just let his hands trace gently soothing patterns against Claude's back, let the other man calm on his own as much as he was able. When the rest of the tension finally left him, Berger said quietly, "Well, we knew this wasn't gonna be easy, Claudio."

Claude pulled himself back upright, took in a deep, calming breath, "Yeah. Yeah, we did." Clearing his throat, he added, "Just tell me you caught up to him and talked him out of this. Because if my choices are living with my parents or staying in this hospital forever... I'd rather stay here."

Berger just smiled, shook his head, "Don't worry. We had a nice little chat about it and he came around to my way of thinking. Eventually. You're not going back to Flushing unless you want to visit." At Claude's indelicate snort, he laughed, "Yeah, didn't think so." Then he fell silent, eyes dropping to stare at the floor for a moment, before raising back up to meet Claude's. In a quiet voice, almost hesitant, he asked, "Have... have you given any thought to where you _do_ want to live?"

And there was that heart racing panic, again. He fought through it anyway, tried to get the words out past a fear-tightened throat, "I haven't... I don't... Berger, the last thing I want to be is an imposition."

At that, Berger's eyes flared wide and his mouth dropped open. Moments later, his eyes narrowed and he took a determined step forward, deliberately invading Claude's personal space. Claude backed up, his own eyes wide in alarm. Berger's mouth worked for a moment with no sound emerging. Eventually, he huffed out an irritated mutter that Claude didn't quite catch -- and wasn't sure he wanted to -- and crossed his arms over his chest. Meeting Claude's eyes head on, he said in a lighthearted conversational tone that was quite at odds with the flashing almost-anger in his eyes, "If you even hint that you want to live somewhere other than with me and Sheila, we're going to be very annoyed with you, you know. We made space in the closets and everything."

In spite of his expectations, on hearing that, Claude's heartbeat sped up again, though this time from hope, "You... but how would that work? You and Sheila have a baby, now. You're parents. How would you even explain me to her? An old friend who just happens to live with you? An uncle? Berger, I'd just be in the way."

Berger snorted, waved a hand in Claude's face like the objections that Claude was raising weren't even significant, "Claudio, you would _not_ be in the way. I've been planning to move you in with us since the night Cheryl was born. And Sheila's been so excited to have you back with us, I'm sure she won't mind having you with us full time. So I think it's safe to say that it's not a problem. Although..." And at that, he raised a finger to tap against his chin, face taking on a look of seriousness, "...there is _one_ little detail that I've been stuck on. Maybe you'd be willing to offer your input?"

At that point, Claude would have agreed to solve the problem of world hunger single-handedly, he was so relieved, "Anything, Berger. What is it?"

Stepping closer, Berger draped an arm around Claude's shoulders and pulled him away from the wall, "Well, we've got a few months before this is really a problem, but I thought we'd want to get it sorted before then." Seeing that he had Claude's attention, Berger smiled and continued, "See, Sheila's easy. She can be 'Mom,' 'Mommy,' Mama,' whatever the hell she wants to be, right?" He paused, waiting for Claude's confused nod before continuing, "But then when we get to me and you, as you said, it gets a little complicated. After all, we can't both be 'Dad.' It'll confuse the hell out of the poor kid. So, the way I figure it, one of us should be 'Dad' and the other can be... I don't know... maybe 'Pop?' What do you think?"

By then, Claude's mouth had dropped open and he was gaping at Berger like a landed fish, unable to get a single sound to emerge. That Berger was willing to take him in, that in itself he would have welcomed as a miracle. That he wanted him to be a second father to his child... that was more than he ever would have dared hope for. It was so huge, such an unbelievably tremendous gift... he couldn't even conceive of it right at the moment.

Smirking at Claude's predicament, Berger just kept talking, tone now light and a little playful, "Honestly, Claudio, I have given it some thought already and if it's all the same to you, I don't think 'Dad' really fits for me, you know? I think I'd make a pretty good 'Pop,' but I wanted to see what you thought about it before I made it official." Quirking an eyebrow at him and grinning like the cat who'd gotten not only the canary but an entire bowl of cream to wash it down, he asked, "So, what do you say, Claudio? 'Dad' work for you?"

And the only response that Claude could make to that was to throw his arms around Berger's neck, bury his face in the man's shoulder and try desperately not to start crying. Berger just rocked him in place, still smiling -- Claude could almost feel the ferocious grin even with his head down -- and said, "OK, then I guess that's settled. We'll get the place ready tonight and come pick you up in the morning. How's that sound?"

Claude just nodded his head vigorously against Berger's shoulder, too overcome for words. Berger rocked him a little longer, then let out a small laugh, "Truthfully I'll be glad to have you. Cheryl started crawling already and she's starting to pull herself up on things, too. I figure it'll only be another month, maybe two before she's got her feet under her and starts walking... and then I'm gonna need all the help I can get to keep her the hell out of trouble." Snorting softly, he added, "And let's face it. She's my kid, Claudio. She's gonna get herself in as much trouble as she can just be _cause_ she can. Karma, man... it's a bitch."

At that last comment, Claude pulled back to meet Berger's eyes. They stared at each other for a moment in total sympathy, then Claude's lips quirked. Berger's soon followed. Two seconds later, they were leaning on each other and laughing like a pair of fools, tears of mirth streaming down their faces. And when Dr. Howard came back five minutes later with the paperwork for them to sign and they still hadn't calmed, he was forced to wonder if he should just tear it up and commit them both.

* * *

When Berger got back to Sheila's apartment, she met him at the door with a relieved smile, a peck on the lips and a double armful of wiggling 8 month old, "Oh, thank G-d. She's all yours. I have _got_ to get this damned paper finished." Sighing heavily, she added, "Why the hell did I think it was a good idea to start law school right after having her?"

Taking the happily cooing little bundle off of Sheila's hands, Berger shrugged and quirked an eyebrow. Sheila winced, "Right. Right. Because if I hadn't, we would have had to start paying back my student loans. I know." Throwing her hands in the air, she turned and stalked back off towards the kitchen table where her books were spread out, "That doesn't make writing papers any easier with an 8 month running around flinging your pencils everywhere!"

In spite of the stress in Sheila's voice, Berger couldn't help sharing a quiet giggle with his daughter. With a twinkle in his eyes, he asked her seriously, "Were you really throwing mommy's pencils?"

Meeting his eyes with an equally mischievous twinkle in hers, she gave him a big smile and said very firmly, "Ma-ma-ma!"

At that, Berger started to laugh harder, "Ma-ma-ma, indeed. I'll bet she wasn't too happy about that. But you know what, kiddo? I'll bet I have some news to share with her that she _will_ be happy about." Leaning in close, he whispered in Cheryl's ear. She immediately responded with a happy giggle -- probably more for the ticklish feel of Berger whispering in her ear than for the content of what he'd said, but still, it at least made him feel like he had a co-conspirator. And in spite of his bravado, he was suddenly worried that he might need one. Leaning back, he said, "What do you think, kiddo? Should we tell her?"

At this point, Sheila had caught on to the goings-on behind her and had turned in her seat with her mom-eyebrow raised, "Tell me what?"

Giving Cheryl one more tickling kiss, Berger walked over to the table, "So... I saw Claude today."

Sheila raised her other eyebrow, "Berger, you see him every day. What was so special about today?"

He sighed, sat down at the table with Cheryl on his knee, "Well... we were sitting outside in the courtyard -- you know, that little one that he likes so much."

Sheila nodded, took his free hand in hers, "I know it well."

"Well... he... he's getting better, Sheila. He really is. You know that, right?"

In his voice was a plea -- a plea that she understand, a plea that she go along with whatever it was he was going to ask. Sheila sighed. It felt like that morning after Cheryl had been born, when he'd so desperately needed to know that Claude could have been a part of their lives. She hadn't understood it then, hadn't seen why he suddenly needed that reassurance. Of course, she understood, _now_. He'd been preparing her, even then, for the reality of Claude being back, had been trying to warn her, in his own Berger way, that things were going to get complicated. With that flash of insight, she finally saw what Berger was driving at. Raising his hand to her lips, she planted a gentle kiss on the knuckles, "Dr. Howard thinks he's ready to leave the hospital, doesn't he?" She prudently decided not to question the light blush on Berger's face at the question and instead took his answering nod at face value, "And you want him to come live here?"

At that question, Berger shifted his grip so that he was holding her hand instead of the other way around, "Sheila... he doesn't have anywhere else to go, and--" He cut off the remainder of what he'd been about to say.

Then again, he didn't have to say it. Sheila understood. She loved Berger with all her heart -- she had for some time -- and she knew that Berger loved her. He loved her and he loved their daughter and he loved being part of the family they made together. And if Claude had never come back into the picture, in time, he would have been content with that. But Claude _was_ back in the picture. And Sheila could kid herself all she liked, but she saw things too clearly to be fooled for long. From the first day that Berger had brought Claude home to her, all eager smiles and naughty winks, to imply all the fun that could be had by the three of them together... she'd been losing him. Berger didn't see it, had never seen it. He really believed that he loved them both equally, just in different ways. Berger always did believe the best of people. But Sheila knew better. It had hurt at first, that she was second-best, but in the end, she'd finally accepted it. She'd prepared herself to lose them both, figured they would run off to Canada without her to escape the draft. And she'd made her peace with it, content in the knowledge that they would be together and they would be safe. She had never in her wildest dreams thought that she would lose them the way that she had... or ultimately have a chance to keep them both.

But there was the real question. She was still no fool. She _wanted_ to keep them both... her beautiful boys, so in love with each other and willing to stretch that love wide enough to include her. She loved them both, for the love they shared and for themselves. She really couldn't imagine having to pick between them or forcing them to pick between her and each other. So the only way she could keep them both would be to let them have each other and to do it in such a way that neither would figure out that that she was doing it. And she could. She had to... for all their sakes.

Sheila let go of Berger's hand to take his face in both of hers and press their lips together in a butterfly soft kiss. When she leaned back it was to give him a brilliant smile, "I hope you told him that he has no choice in the matter, Banana-Berger. I won't hear of him living anywhere else."

The smile that Berger gave her in response... dear G-d, it was beautiful. It was pure, unalloyed joy. She hadn't seen many like it from him since Claude got his draft notice and it was breathtaking. He cleared his throat roughly and nodded, "I told him we cleared out space in the closets and everything."

She gave him an equally beaming grin in response, "Good. I want him back with us as badly as you do, Banana-Berger. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen. I miss him, love... you know I do."

He nodded again then, with a wild whoop of joy, yanked her out of her seat and onto his other knee. Taking firm hold of her, he indulged them in a deep, passionate kiss. She could almost feel his joy radiating through his very skin. It was enough to get drunk on. After a few minutes, he let her sit back up, grinned smugly at the blissed out look on her face. He then turned and planted a smacking kiss on top of Cheryl's head for good measure. Cheryl looked confused, but enchanted by the exuberant happiness her parents were sharing. Sheila smiled softly at her daughter and also gave her a kiss, then embraced them both.

After a few moments, Berger finally piped up again, "There was... um... there was one other thing." Sheila leaned back from their embrace, quirked an eyebrow. Berger, though, had apparently been taking to Cheryl. Hitching the little girl higher up on his hip so he could look her in the eyes, he said, "Kiddo... from now on, I'm gonna be 'Pop,' OK? And Claude -- you know Claude, right? I know you like him... and he adores you." He paused, cleared his throat, "Well, he... he's gonna be 'Dad.' I know that seems a little confusing right now, but we'll help you sort it out when you start talking, OK?"

Sheila clapped her hands over her mouth, for a moment unsure if she was going to laugh or cry. She hadn't even considered, hadn't even thought about what it would mean for Cheryl to have all three of them living together. But Berger... of course, he would think of it and wouldn't hesitate to share the gift that was fatherhood with the man he loved. His heart was too big to be jealous of something like that, especially when he knew it would bring Claude such joy. She threw her arms back around his neck, pressed a laughing kiss to his cheek.

Berger turned and lifted an eyebrow at her, eyes dancing, "I take it you don't mind, then?"

"'Don't mind,' Banana-Berger? No, I don't _mind_ ," she answered, pushing at his shoulder. Laughing, she said, "I think it's a great idea. And if we don't act like it's anything unusual, she'll never have to be confused about it." Smile softening, she added, "And I think Claude will make a wonderful father." At Berger's hopeful look, she started laughing, "Besides, it's a girl's dream come true, to have two fathers to wrap around her little finger instead of one. Between the two of you, she's going to be spoiled rotten. Neither of you can say 'No' to her, already!"

Berger laughed, shrugged sheepishly, "I'm not even going to try to deny it, because I have a feeling you're right." At Sheila's knowing look, Berger started to sweat, quickly decided a change of topic was in order, "OK, so... I don't have work tomorrow and you don't have class until the afternoon, so I thought... I thought we'd go pick him up tomorrow morning...?"

Sheila smiled, "That's perfect, baby. We'll get everything squared away tonight, get the place cleaned up, and... oh!" Berger lifted an eyebrow at her suddenly irked expression, "Berger... other than the hospital sweats he's been living in, Claude doesn't have anything to wear!"

Berger twitched, "You've got to be kidding me. You think he's going to _care_?"

"Well... how would you feel? If you'd just spent a year and a half in the hospital living in sweats and hospital gowns after two and half years of living in army fatigues... wouldn't you want normal clothes to come home in? Wouldn't you want to leave that all behind?" she asked.

Eyes taking on a sad look, Berger pulled her closer, rested his head against her shoulder, "You've got a point there..." Eyes taking on a determined look, Berger squared his shoulders, "I'm going to Queens."

"You're going to-- Berger, why...?" Eyes widening in sudden understanding, Sheila said, "Oh, honey, no. That's not what I meant. We can hit the thrift shops in the morning, pick up something on the way to the hospital. Then we can take him shopping later, OK?"

Berger pushed at her until she got up, then handed Cheryl over. Meeting her eyes, he shook his head, "No. Sheila... I can't explain it, but I think he needs this: _his_ clothes... _his_ things... it's important. He doesn't really know who he is, anymore. This... it's a place to start, a way to remind him that he was once someone else, before all this. It'll help." Ducking his gaze again, he mumbled, "Besides... I'm not sure we can afford to buy him all new clothes and I don't want him to start worrying about being a burden on us." Looking back up, he said, "I don't want him having to worry about getting a job to help support us all, Sheila. He's getting better, but he needs more time. He needs a safe place he can come home to where he won't have to worry about any of that. I want to be able to give him that, for at least a little while. OK?"

Humbled by how Berger had thought this through and from an angle that she hadn't even considered, Sheila simply nodded, "OK." At Berger's shocked look, she said, "OK. You're right... except for one thing." Before Berger could even ask, she handed Cheryl back to him and said firmly, "We're coming with you."

Berger's jaw dropped, "But... but... didn't you just say you have a paper to finish...?"

Meeting his eyes dead-on, she said simply, "Fuck the paper. If you're going to Queens, I want to have a few words with Mrs. Helen Bukowski." And with that last, she spun on her heel and stalked off to get her and Cheryl's coats.

Shivering with an emotion that was half-fear and half-desire, Berger followed eagerly after her, glad as usual that she was on his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**
> 
> Claude: *twitch* I _really_ don't like you right now.
> 
> R-chan: *blinks* Ironically enough... that no longer bothers me.
> 
> Claude: No. Really. I don't like you.
> 
> R-chan: *eg* Then why do you keep inspiring me to fic?
> 
> Claude: *gapes* D:
> 
> R-chan: *slow smile*
> 
> Claude: *crosses arms over chest* *grumps* **Really** don't like you.
> 
> R-chan: ^_^ Yes, dear. That's nice.


	2. The Morning Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Berger and Sheila take a trip to Queens to confront Claude's parents, then finally... _finally_ get to bring Claude home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _December 2, 2010:_** Yeah, nothing really to say... Happy second night of Chanukah, everyone!

The trip to Flushing was made mostly in silence. Even Cheryl refrained from her usual shenanigans, sat quietly on Berger's lap. Sheila just stared out the window of the subway, eyes intently focused on whatever it was out there that had caught her attention. On some level, even though he'd been the one to suggest it, Berger couldn't believe that they were actually doing this. The last time he'd seen Claude's parents... Jesus, it had been that night so long ago when they'd found out that Jeanie was pregnant with little Claude. They'd been so innocent, then, so ignorant. How many things would he have done differently if he'd known then what was going to happen? He snorted. One thing for sure: he'd have tied Claude up, thrown him over his shoulder and dragged his ass to Canada kicking and screaming if that was what it took. Then again... if he'd done that, he wouldn't have Cheryl. Tucking his face against Cheryl's already unruly black curls, Berger took in a deep breath. He'd give almost anything to have spared Claude the pain he went through... but would he give up Cheryl? His arms tightened around her. G-d... he hoped he wouldn't have. Jesus. It was easy to see how Claude used to get himself tied up in so many knots just thinking.

As though sensing that he was starting to fray a little, Sheila reached out to take Berger's hand into hers. She started absently stroking her thumb over his knuckles as she stared out the window. It wasn't much, but it did ease the tension a little. This was starting to feel like they were heading into a battle of sorts... Oh, who was he kidding? It _was_ a battle - a battle for Claude - and he couldn't help if he was distracted by nerves.

By the time they reached the station, Berger had managed to calm himself and followed quietly in Sheila's wake. When they reached the Bukowski residence, he stopped a few steps shy of the door and let Sheila step up to ring the doorbell. After the third ring with no answer, Berger was ready to leave Cheryl with Sheila and just climb in the window that he remembered as being Claude's, pack a bag of his clothes and leave. Sheila, however, had been spoiling for this fight for years and she wasn't letting go of the idea that easily. With a wicked grin on her face, she depressed the bell one more time... and then proceeded to lean on it. Out of deference for the seriousness of the situation, Berger buried his laughter in Cheryl's stomach. When Sheila overheard, she turned and lifted an eyebrow. Berger just smiled impishly back at her and mouthed the words, "I love you." She beamed at him, tossed her hair and turned back to leaning on the bell.

It didn't take more than a minute for the lights to go on in the front hallway and a harried voice to shout from within, "I'm coming, I'm coming! For goodness' sake, I'm coming!"

Sheila didn't let up off the bell, however, until the person opened the inner door. When she did, Sheila met the woman's eyes for a moment, then deliberately released the bell, "Oh good. I was starting to worry that you might not be home."

Mrs. Bukowski, to her credit, didn't immediately slam the door in their faces. She did, however, let out a gasp and say, " _You_. What are _you_ doing here?"

Sheila offered her her sweetest smile and just said, "We'll be happy to tell you as soon as you let us in. It's November and it's cold and I don't want my daughter out here for an hour while we converse, if I have a say in the matter."

The two blondes stared each other down for another minute and finally Claude's mother sighed and slumped. Nodding mutely, she wrapped her robe tighter around herself, stepped back and motioned for them to enter. When she saw Berger, her eyes narrowed, but when she saw who he held in his arms, they softened and began to shine. Voice full of tears, she said, "She's beautiful... I remember when Claude was that small. He was so... so sweet as a baby..."

Berger's eyes widened as, all of a sudden, Claude's mother buried her face in her hands and started to sob. He jerked his gaze over to Sheila, silently asking for advice. Sheila, no less moved by Mrs. Bukowski's tears than Berger, stepped over to the other woman and pulled her into a gentle embrace, murmuring soothing words into the fall of her hair. After a few minutes, the older woman finally calmed and stepped away, embarrassingly wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. Wordlessly, Sheila held out a handkerchief. Mrs. Bukowski took it with a grateful smile, dabbed at her eyes with it, then blew her nose. That done, she took a deep breath and said, "I'm sorry. It's just... it doesn't seem like so long ago. And now..." A few more tears tracked down her cheeks, "Now... I just wish he was here."

Sheila sighed, clearly unwillingly to attack someone who was in such obvious pain, "Mrs. Bukowski... before we say anything more, is your husband at home?"

The older woman shook her head, "No, no he isn't. He's out with his coworkers, no doubt indulging in far more alcohol than is prudent. He does that most nights... he has for many years. Ever since..." She trailed off as she realized that neither of the people before her really needed her to finish that explanation. They understood all too well what would have driven Claude's father to drink.

Shaking her head at the situation, Sheila wrapped her arm around Mrs. Bukowski's shoulders and guided her into the kitchen. Once they were all seated at the kitchen table, Sheila gently asked, "Mrs. Bukowski... when was the last time you went to visit Claude?"

At that, the older woman's head jerked upwards, "You... how do you know about that?" When Sheila ducked her eyes away, Mrs. Bukowski reached out and grabbed her hands, once again demanding, "How do you know? I told you... I sent you that letter... _How?_ "

Into the ensuing silence, Berger quietly said, "I ran into him." Mrs. Bukowski turned to look at him and he shifted uncomfortably, "It was the night Cheryl was born. He... he broke out of his room, got away from the orderlies... pretty much ran me down in the hallway. And since it seemed like I was reaching him that night when nothing else was, the doctor cleared me to come back. I've been visiting him every day since. Sheila found out a few months back and she's been visiting, too. That's it. No one else knows, yet. We didn't want to overwhelm him."

The older woman slumped, "And... how is he around you?"

"He... it's not easy, you know? He still has a pretty hard time of it." Berger paused a moment, pressed a gentle kiss to his daughter's forehead, "But he's getting better. He's talking, at least, and most of the time he's pretty aware of what's going on. He just... it's gonna take time, you know? It's not gonna happen overnight."

Mrs. Bukowski rose from the table, walked over to the stove and started fiddling with the tea kettle. Eventually, she filled it with water and set it to boil. She then turned back to face them, a terrible expression of grief on her face, "The last time we saw him was several months ago. It... it didn't go well. My husband started demanding to know how much longer we could expect this to go on. The doctor responded that there was no way to predict such a thing. My husband started yelling back, wanting to know what we were paying him for since he didn't seem to be making any progress. Claude reacted badly to all the heightened emotions. I could see it building - it started the moment we walked into the room - but I hadn't thought to warn anyone. The next thing I knew, he had his father pinned to the floor with his hands around his throat, trying to choke the life out him. Thank goodness the doctor was ready with a sedative or Claude might have done him real harm." Several more tears tracked unheeded down her face, "We haven't been back since. My husband refuses to go until Claude is himself again - even if that never happens - and he's forbidden me to go on my own. He claims it's too dangerous." Her voice dropped down into a whisper, "I think... I think if it were up to him, he'd have Claude thrown into an asylum and forget that we ever had a son." With those words, she bowed her head into her hands and again began to weep.

Wordlessly, Sheila held out her arms for Cheryl. Berger passed her over and got up to go to comfort the sobbing woman, "Hey, lady... it's gonna be OK." Wrapping his arms awkwardly around her, he let Claude's mother cry into his shoulder, "He really is getting better, more and more every day. In fact..." Berger caught Sheila's eyes long enough to get confirmation before continuing, "In fact, Dr. Howard released him from the hospital. We're going to be bringing him home tomorrow."

At that, Mrs. Bukowski's head jerked up off of Berger's shoulder and she stared at him open-mouthed, "H-home? He's... he's coming _home?_ "

Sheila took that as her cue to rise and walk over. Berger stepped back from Claude's mother as she reached them. She wrapped an arm around Berger's waist and gently squeezed. She said, simply, "Not here, Mrs. Bukowski. Not to you. He's coming home with us."

They waited as she looked back and forth between them, eyes confused. Eventually, however, they landed on Berger and widened. In a voice gone soft with surprise, she said, "I always wondered... He... he talked so much about his best friend, 'Berger.' He talked about you as much as he did about his girlfriend... perhaps even more. I wondered, but I never really thought..."

Berger gave Sheila one last squeeze, then stepped over to take Mrs. Bukowski's hands in his, "I know it's not what any mother wants for her son. I know it's not the usual road. But I can promised you this, if nothing else..." Once he had her full attention, he said quietly, earnestly, "I love your son, Mrs. Bukowski." His voice roughened with emotion, but stayed strong, "Losing him once almost killed me. Losing him again would finish me off, I'm sure. So, you have my word that I'm going to do whatever it takes to keep him safe, to make him whole, again. I need him too much to do anything else."

Claude's mother stared at him for several minutes, blue eyes boring into earnest green. Berger just continued to hold her gaze, willing her to understand, to open herself to the possibility that her son could be happy in such a nontraditional relationship. It didn't take long. Her eyes slowly filled with tears and before Berger really understood what she was doing, she'd leaned up on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek, "I shouldn't... I know I shouldn't... but I believe you." Swallowing hard, she turned away from him to deal with the kettle, efficiently preparing the tea pot and pouring the hot water in to allow it to steep. Still facing the counter, hands shaking where they rested on its surface, she whispered harshly, "His father can't know. He... I don't know what he'd do, but I don't think it would be anything good."

Berger snorted, "And what could he do? I'd dare him to even try anything."

Before Mrs. Bukowski could answer, Sheila put a hand on Berger's arm, gravely shook her head, "Banana-Berger, he could do plenty." At Berger's confused look, she elaborated, "There are laws against it... two men having a relationship. He could get you both arrested."

Berger's jaw dropped and he crossed his arms defensively over his chest, "Well that's a good, old-fashioned bummer, man. What the hell? It's just love. It's not any different than you and me. In the sixties we were all doing it."

Wrapping an arm around the younger man, Sheila gently rubbed his back, "I know that, love. You don't need to convince _me_ , but that doesn't change the reality of what is. The laws were there then, too - we just broke so many laws back then that we didn't care about breaking one more."

Berger subsided, took Cheryl back from Sheila and stepped away from the two women. Sheila sighed softly as he did so, grateful, as always, that Cheryl's mere presence could calm her father. She hadn't mentioned this before, to any of the Tribe, because she hadn't cared. She agreed that the laws were stupid, that they needed to be changed, but the Tribe had done so many things that were illegal as a protest against similarly ridiculous laws that she had figured they all knew and that this was more of the same. But now... now it mattered. She didn't want to do anything that could get Claude hurt and his mother knew his father better than either of them. If she thought he would report them, if she thought that he would do something to cause them harm... Sheila would believe it. Stepping up next to Claude's mother, she covered the other woman's hand with her own, "We won't say anything. You have our word. Neither of us would do anything to hurt Claude. OK?"

The older woman nodded, pulled her hand away to pour the tea, "I appreciate your discretion." By the time she had all three tea cups delivered to the kitchen table, she'd regained some of her equilibrium. As they all sat down, she said, "I also appreciate you coming all this way to tell me about Claude, but... is that really why you've come?"

At that query, Sheila looked over at Berger. He was the one who'd been so insistent, so she thought that he would be the best one to explain. Blowing one last raspberry against Cheryl's neck, Berger looked up, "It... it's going to sound stupid to you." Seeing nothing but calm acceptance and patience, however, in the older woman's gaze, he sighed, "We came to get Claude's clothes and things... if you still have them." At Mrs. Bukowski's confused expression, he explained, "We thought it would be better for him to have his own clothes back, instead of coming home in those same damned hospital sweats he's been living in for the last year and a half."

Seeing Claude's mother still hesitant, Sheila put a hand on Berger's arm and patted him softly. Turning back to Mrs. Bukowski, she added the piece that she knew Berger wouldn't... that she knew Berger _couldn't_ , "And with Cheryl in the picture, now... we really can't afford to buy him a whole new wardrobe, even at the thrift stores."

At those words, Mrs. Bukowski's eyes widened, "Oh... of course. I didn't even think..." Flustered, she played with her tea cup, turning it one way, then back the other. Finally, she nodded to herself and rose from the table, "Excuse me for a moment." Without another word, she left them sitting alone in her kitchen with those three untouched and rapidly cooling cups of tea.

The moment she was gone Berger grabbed at Sheila's hand and hissed urgently at her, "What the hell did you go and tell her that for? It's none of her business!"

Sheila sighed and patted his hand with her free one, "Banana-Berger, it's OK." Before he could protest that it wasn't, she put a finger against his lips, "Just listen for a minute, all right?" When he subsided, she continued, "Berger, she's Claude's mother. She wants to be there for him, but she can't be. She wants to help him, but she can't make herself go against his father's wishes. She needs a reason, an excuse, to do it. She needs to feel needed. OK, baby?"

Berger stewed over that for a moment, expression still stormy. Eventually, he sat back in his seat and grumped, "I still don't think you should have said it."

Recognizing that as Berger's grudging acceptance, Sheila just smiled, "OK, Banana-Berger. Maybe I shouldn't have."

When Mrs. Bukowski finally returned to the kitchen, she was carrying a decent-sized suitcase and a smaller travel bag. She placed the suitcase on the ground, the travel bag on the table between Berger and Sheila. Clearing her throat, she said, "Claude's father wanted to get rid of everything. He said that when Claude returned home..." Her voice caught momentarily, but she continued, "He said that the Army would have put a stop to this nonsense, that Claude would have no need of costumes to go out in public... that we'd buy him new clothes, more appropriate clothes. He told me to dispose of it all. I... I packed everything up and told him I'd done it." The smile on her face was sad but proud, "I didn't. I tucked it away in the attic because I knew... I knew that when Claude _did_ come home, he would want it." Leaning over, she put a hand on the bag that was on the table, "I... I don't know what most of these things are, why he thought they were important. Some of them..." She shook her head, "It doesn't matter. They were things he kept, some from school, some from other places. Some of them he displayed openly, others he kept hidden in boxes at the bottom of his closet. Either way... I think he'd want them all. And if not, he can throw them away himself."

Sheila took Mrs. Bukowski's hands in hers and rose to her feet. Blue eyes met blue in perfect understanding and Sheila enveloped her in a tight hug, "Thank you... thank you so much, Mrs. Bukowski. I'm sure Claude will be grateful."

When they stepped away from each other, they shared a smile. Mrs. Bukowski then cleared her throat, "There... there is one more thing. The last thing I want is to offend either of you, but I need to make this offer." Quietly, she held out a check. It was written from her personal account and totaled $2000.

Seeing Berger about to all but roar in protest, Sheila briskly planted her foot on his instep. While he cursed under his breath and tried to bend over to grab his foot while simultaneously trying not to drop Cheryl, Sheila pushed Mrs. Bukowski's hand away, "We can't take this. You know we can't."

But Mrs. Bukowski wouldn't budge. With steel in her voice and fire in her eyes, she said, "It isn't meant for you. It's for my son. Like everything else I've given you tonight, if he doesn't want it, _he_ can dispose of it."

Sheila met those eyes for another minute, gauging the depth of her intent. Deep in those eyes, she could clearly read the question: What if it was _your_ child? Finally, she solemnly nodded, reached out and took the check, "We'll leave it to Claude to decide." Smiling softly and speaking over Berger's hissed protests, she added impertinently, "And if he does decide that he wants to cash it, I'll make damned sure he calls to say 'Thank you.'"

That last startled a laugh out of Claude's mother. Eyes twinkling, she stepped back, "Please, see that he does. It... It will be good to hear his voice, again."

The rest of the visit was pleasant, more so than Berger had dared hope it would be. Mrs. Bukowski emptied out the tea mugs and with a conspirational wink, pulled out a box of cocoa powder from the back of the cabinet and made hot chocolate for them instead. They shared the drink in happy communion, all nearly giddy with the knowledge that Claude was coming home tomorrow. Berger hadn't expected it, but he found himself almost liking Claude's mother... and pitying her. It couldn't be easy for her, trapped here with Claude's father and his bitterness, his unwillingness to change. He couldn't do anything about that, but maybe... Clearing his throat, he made her an offer, "I... I can't make any promises, Mrs. Bukowski, but I'll talk to Claude. I'll see... I'll see if I can get him to agree to talk to you, maybe to see you. You'd be welcome at our place, just so you know. OK?"

The older woman's smile was brilliant and lit up the room like a small star. And the minute Berger saw it, he knew where Claude had gotten his own smile from because this one warmed him, too. She reached across the table to grip his hand and said simply, "Thank you."

After that, they said their goodbyes, wrapped a sleeping Cheryl in her coat, picked up Claude's belongings and left to go back to Manhattan. They still had a lot to do before tomorrow, but Berger secretly didn't care. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough. He was done with waiting.

* * *

Pace to the corner. Pause. Stare at the clock. Curse. Pace back to the other corner. Pause. Curse some more. Pace halfway back across the room. Stop at the window. Check the angle of the sun. Compare it to the clock. Clench your hand. Drive it into the wall beside the window. Curse over the now bruised knuckles.

Dr. Howard sighed from his vantage point on the bed, "Claude. It's only 8:57. It's the tail end of rush hour. Besides, they said they would be here this morning - they never said they would be here immediately when the hospital opened at eight. Calm down."

Claude turned to face the doctor, bit off a growl. He closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, then through clenched teeth said, "I know all this. It's just..." Making a frustrated noise, he buried his hands deep into his hair and gave it a sharp tug, "Freedom is so close I can almost taste it. Patience is surely a virtue, Doctor... but right now it isn't one of mine."

At the wry tone of Claude's voice, Dr. Howard shook his head and let out a small laugh, "You know, son... were I in your situation, I don't know that I would be fairing any better."

At the obvious empathy in the doctor's voice, Claude finally managed to let go of some of the tension. He walked over to the bed, sat down gingerly, as far away from Dr. Howard as space would allow. Dr. Howard merely raised an eyebrow and said dryly, "I think we're past the point when you need to fear me pouncing on you with a syringe full of haloperidol, you know."

Claude let out a small huff of a laugh and shook his head, "Old habits die hard, Dr. Howard. A year plus of mistrust is hard to unlearn."

Dr. Howard nodded, understanding in his eyes, "I do wish you'd started talking to me earlier. I'd like to think I could have assuaged some of that mistrust."

Claude sighed, raised a hand to rub at his temples, "I wasn't ready before now. I'm _still_ not ready. But I want to get out of here and if talking to you is what it takes," he shrugged, "Then I'll talk to you."

"I certainly don't want to push the issue, Claude. That doesn't help anyone," Dr. Howard then pulled a card out of his pocket, "Look, son... I feel as though I have a vested interest in you and your success, but I'm not so proud as to think that I'm the only one who can help you readjust. Obviously your friends have accomplished even more than I have. I just want you to know that I am available if you need to talk and I would appreciate it if you would at least check in every now and then, let me know how you're doing, all right?" He then handed over the card.

Claude read the card, frowned, read it again. When he looked up to meet Dr. Howard's steady gaze, it was with a quirked eyebrow, "This isn't the hospital address."

Dr. Howard nodded, "You're right. I have a private office outside the hospital. The number I've written below it is my home telephone number. In my limited experience with people in your situation, problems never arise conveniently in the hours between nine and five. I want you to be able to reach me if you need help."

Claude stared at him for a minute, searching his eyes for any sign of deception, insincerity. He found none. There was only honest concern. Eventually, Claude raised his hand, held it out to the doctor. Dr. Howard smiled, gently clasped that offered hand and shook it. There were no words, no promises that Claude didn't believe he could keep, no threats, no ultimatums, just help offered and warily accepted. And into that moment of peace and camaraderie came the strident tones of the hospital intercom paging Dr. Howard. Claude was off the bed and pressed into the corner with the first shrill tone. Dr. Howard winced, met Claude's momentarily wild-eyed gaze, then sighed and shook his head, "I know. You'll work on it. I'll go see what they want."

It took Claude almost another five minutes to convince his adrenaline-locked body to leave the haven of the corner. It didn't go willingly, Claude was just glad it went at all. Most days he coped with unexpected noises just fine - OK, that wasn't really true, but at least most days he was _better_ at coping with unexpected noises - but today... today he was just a little too on edge. He didn't have any extra attention to spare for little details like that, no padding left to cushion his over-anxious psyche. Damn it, where was Berger?

At exactly 9:13, Berger, Sheila and Cheryl finally arrived. Claude met them at the door, tried to push them back out into the hallway to discourage them staying any longer. At Sheila's frown he winced, explained quietly, "Look, can we just go? We can socialize outside. I just... I want to get the hell out of here."

Berger placed a gentle, steadying hand at the small of his back, gave it a small rub, "Easy there, Claudio. We'll have you out of here soon, there's just one small thing we have to take care of first."

Claude met Berger's eyes, a plea in his own. What could there possibly be left to take care of? The paperwork had all been completed yesterday. All that remained was to sign him out at the desk. Unless... Maybe they wanted to lay down ground rules. Maybe... Oh, G-d, maybe they'd changed their minds. Maybe they didn't want him, after all. Maybe they were just here to tell him that he'd have to find somewhere else to live. Oh _G-d_. As panic started to quicken his breathing and grey the edges of his vision, he was only dimly aware of Berger pulling him into a tight embrace and talking softly into his ear. After another few minutes, the haze finally started clearing and he could make out some of Berger's words...

"...gotta stop doing this. Jesus, Claudio, we're not abandoning you. If you haven't figured that out by now, you're a bigger idiot than I am... and that's saying a lot. You-"

Claude broke into that soft tirade with an exhausted chuckle, "You're not an idiot."

Berger leaned back, met Claude's eyes with a raised eyebrow, "Not gonna defend your own intelligence?"

Claude shrugged, "No. Apparently, I _am_ an idiot."

Berger rolled his eyes, "Yeah, you sure are. Nothing ever changes, huh? Next time just fuckin' ask the question before you go and tie yourself up in knots, OK?" Leaving one hand against the small of Claude's back, he lifted the other and started ticking off points, "I love you. Sheila loves you. Cheryl practically thinks you hung the fucking moon. You're coming home with us. You _belong_ with us." Lowering his hand, he met Claude's eyes squarely, "There's just one minor detail we need to take care of before we get you out of here. That's **all**. OK? Still with me?"

Taking a deep breath, Claude nodded, "Yeah. Yeah, Banana-Berger... I'm with you."

"Good," with a firm nod, Berger pushed Claude back into the room and closed the door behind them all. He then reached out a hand for the bundle Sheila was carrying in her free hand. He plopped it down on the bed and started pulling things out: underwear, socks, belt, jeans, shirt, shoes. He then turned to Claude and quirked an eyebrow.

Claude swallowed hard, walked over to the bed to start fingering the items laid out on it. He picked up the belt, ran gentle fingers over it with a look of awe on his face, "You... you bought me new clothes?" In the entirety of the last night as he lay awake counting down the minutes until his release, he hadn't even considered anything past the idea of leaving. He hadn't considered that he had no clothes, no personal effects, nothing that didn't belong to the hospital except those few things he had still had on him when the Army had first dropped him off here. It had been so long since his appearance actually mattered that he hadn't given it even a second's thought, but this... He turned to look at Sheila, knowing she would give him honesty about this even if Berger wouldn't. With an undertone of accusation, he asked, "How much money did you spend on me?"

Sheila gave him a soft, understanding smile and shook her head, "You're not running up a tab, Claude. You're family. If you need something, we'll take care of it." Seeing that he was anything but mollified by that explanation, she sighed softly, "Not as much as you're obviously thinking, Claude. We bought you new underwear and socks, but the rest..." She stepped forward, raised a gentle hand to press against his cheek, "The rest of this is your old clothing. Your mother kept it all. After a little... discussion... she was eager to help." At the clear disbelief in Claude's eyes, Sheila gave his cheek a small tap, "She's your mother, Claude. She loves you. She wants what's best for you, even if that's us. And she kept _everything_. You won't be wanting for clothing anytime soon."

Claude's breath caught. He hadn't even considered... he'd thought that when his parents stopped coming around, they'd mutually decided to wash their hands of him. He should have known, should have realized, that that wouldn't be the case. Lifting the white shirt in his hands, he pressed his face into it, inhaled deeply. There it was, the faintest teasing hint of lavender. And wrapped around that smell came a memory. He'd been young, maybe five or six, and his mother had been packing away their summer clothes in trunks in the attic. Within each trunk, she placed a lovingly wrapped packet of dried lavender. When he'd asked her why, she just gave him a soft kiss on the top of the head and smiled. He remembered that smile... so brilliant and so warm. She smiled like that often in those days, so bright and happy. He used to do every stupid thing he could think of just to make her smile like that. She didn't... she didn't smile like that much anymore.

At the next change of the season, as she pulled out the summer clothes and this time packed away the winter clothes, she again tucked fresh packets of dried lavender into the trunks and he again asked her why. This time, she answered that she liked the rush of that smell when she opened the trunks every season. He watched this go on for three more years, six more changings of the season and finally, when he was nine, he'd asked her, "But, Mother... why lavender?"

The smile she gave him then was different, but no less bright. This one also held a hint of pride. This time when she raised a hand to his cheek, she gave him a real answer, "Did you know, Claude, that flowers talk?" His mouth had dropped open and he'd shaken his head forcefully. Her smile had turned playful and she'd laughed, "Well, they do. If you give a girl a red rose - and someday, I'm sure you will - that rose will tell her that you love her." She pulled him down to sit on her lap and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, "And if someone you love dies, you might lay forget-me-nots on their grave to tell them that you love them and you will cherish the memories they've left behind. Do you understand?"

He'd sat there with his head tucked beneath her chin, in awe that his mother knew this whole other language that he hadn't even known existed. He nodded, wanting to hear more, wanting to understand it all. Because if he could... then he could have this with her. He could have an entire secret language to share with his mother that his father wouldn't understand, "So, what does the lavender mean?"

She gently rocked him in her lap, pressed another kiss to the top of his head. She then softly began to speak, "Lavender is a special flower. It stands for purity, for silence, for luck... and for devotion. It was the flower I carried at my wedding, the flower my mother carried at hers and my mother's mother before her. I suppose, in a way, it's the signature of the women of my family."

And something about that moment, sitting with his ear pressed against her chest listening to the equally soothing tones of the beat of her heart and her soft voice, learning this new, incredible language... it had felt almost mystical. And he'd heard something in her voice then, something that he'd never heard before: a touch of wistful sadness. And with a child's leaping insight, he'd understood. His mother... his grandmother... his great-grandmother... and on and on and on back to the beginning, had carried these flowers at their weddings... and his mother had no daughter to pass that tradition on to. He sat up in her lap, steadily met her eyes and said, "I won't forget, Mom. I won't forget what the lavender means. And when I have a daughter, I'll make sure she carries it at her wedding, too. I promise."

She'd started to cry then - happy tears, she would later tell him - and pulled him into a tight embrace. Ever since that day, lavender had held a special meaning for him. It was _her_ scent, his mother's scent, and it meant that she would always, _always_ love him... no matter what. He should never have forgotten that. And he wouldn't... not ever again.

Lifting his head from the shirt, he was surprised to see a small spot of dampness left behind. Then again... that made sense, too. Berger's hand was again resting on the small of his back - he recognized the warmth - and the other man's voice raised in gentle query, "Claudio...?"

Claude cleared his throat, gave Berger and Sheila a slightly shaky smile and husked out, "I'm OK. It's just... that smell. The lavender." At the twinned pair of curious looks they shot him, he just shook his head, "I'll... I'll tell you someday, just not now, OK? Suffice it to say, it carries a really strong sense memory along with it." At their looks of gentle understanding, he gathered up his clothes and fled into the bathroom to get changed.

It was strange, in a way. It had been four years since he'd last worn normal, civilian clothing. It felt wrong, somehow, to be wearing it, now. It felt as though at any minute, someone would break down the door and demand to know why he was camouflaging himself as someone normal. But no one did. He dressed slowly, savoring the feel of every article of clothing as he pulled it on - the almost velvety feel of one of his most worn pairs of jeans as he slid them up his legs, the soft, stretched out cotton of his favorite white, embroidered shirt. It was only when he straightened that he found the first problem. He'd clearly lost some weight since he'd left for Viet Nam. As he quickly threaded the belt through the loops of his jeans, he fought down a blush. He'd lost a _lot_ of weight. The jeans were too big. They were too big by several inches. Hopefully Sheila and Berger wouldn't notice. They didn't need to feel like they had to buy him new jeans, not when they were already giving him so much... No. That was what a belt was _for_ and he'd just have to concentrate on putting some weight back on to fill them back out. Then it wouldn't be an issue.

He perched on the toilet seat to pull on his socks and his old scuffed up leather shoes. Only then did he stand up and turn to look in the mirror. And it was almost as though he was looking at a stranger. The man before him, he looked just like that nave, innocent boy that had left for Viet Nam all those years ago. He looked just like him... except for his eyes. Those eyes were haunted, wary... bruised. Those eyes were damaged. They didn't fit, made him feel like the entire body below those eyes was a costume he'd put on to fit in with the rest of society. Those eyes made him feel disconnected.

Shivering slightly with the force of that feeling, Claude made himself look away from the mirror, made himself walk to the bathroom door and pull it open. And before he even had a chance to note Berger or Sheila's reactions, a happy squeal and two tiny hands grabbing at the leg of his jeans drew his attention downward. Strange thoughts immediately pushed to the background, Claude bent down to lift Cheryl into his arms. Once there, she pressed her head against his shoulder and let out a happy little, "Muh-muh-muh-muh-muh."

Claude just laughed, "Sweetheart, if you think I'm 'Mama,' then we are going to have a _lot_ to set you straight about."

She looked up, met his eyes with a beaming smile and, with a smirking laugh, agreed, "Muh-muh-muh!"

He turned to look at Sheila, eyebrow raised. Sheila, however, was no help. She was trying to hide her giggles behind her hand - unsuccessfully, Claude noted - and could only shake her head in response. Berger took pity on him and walked over to clap a hand against his shoulder, "Don't worry about it, Claudio. Lately, I've been 'Mama,' too. So has her stuffed dog, for that matter. It's nothing personal."

They met each other's eyes for a moment, held gazes for another, then finally both started to laugh. And suddenly... it wasn't so hard. He wasn't disconnected. He was connected in the most real, most important way possible. Cheryl might not be his by birth, but Berger had made it very clear that he expected Claude to think of her as his in every other way. He... he had a daughter. Somehow, in the midst of the wreckage his life had become, he had a daughter. Pulling her close, he pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her neck. She giggled and patted his head, tangled her fingers in his hair. This precious little girl... his daughter... _she_ was his connection: her, her father and her mother. Looking up at Berger and Sheila, he gave them what he suspected was a ridiculously sappy grin and said, " _Now_ , can we get the hell out of here?"

They had him bundled up into his coat and out of that hospital as fast as they could possibly manage it.

* * *

Berger and Sheila had had a serious debate earlier that morning over how to get Claude home from the hospital. Normally they walked and took the subway, but Berger was afraid that even such a routine activity might be overwhelming to Claude at this point. Sheila, on the other hand, thought it was exactly what he would need: to get back out into life and experience it. Throw the baby in the water and see if he can swim, so to speak. The reality of the matter, though, was that cabs were expensive, subway tokens were not. In the end, they'd decided to leave it up to Claude. The subway was only three long city blocks away and rush hour was over by now. If he could handle the walk to the subway, then they'd go the rest of the way as usual. If not, they'd hail a cab and just deal with it.

Right off the bat, Berger was sure they were in trouble. They stepped outside of the hospital and Claude's eyes immediately flared wide and he backed up under the overhang. It took a little coaxing on Berger's part, but they eventually got him to start walking. His eyes were flashing so quickly from thing to thing to thing that it actually made Berger a little dizzy. By the time they were halfway to the subway station, Claude's eyes were starting to look a little glazed.

Berger caught Sheila's eyes and shook his head. She sighed, but nodded hers. Before they could say anything, however, Claude's irritated voice husked out, "I'm not a child, so if you're not tall enough to trade those glances over my head where I can't see them, don't bother."

Sheila immediately moved to comfort him, "Claude, we just don't want to overwhelm you on your first day out of the hospital. There's going to be time for you to reacclimatize to the city. You don't have to do it all today. It's too much. You've done well so far. Now, let us hail a cab to get us the rest of the way."

For just a moment, it looked like he might agree, then he shook his head and resumed walking. Sheila cursed under her breath. Those long legs of his could eat a lot of ground very quickly when he was so minded. And he was clearly so minded, now. Berger immediately raced to catch up, leaving her puffing along behind them carrying Cheryl. Damn it. She'd forgotten about that, about how easily he and Berger could leave her in the dust when they wanted to. It took her almost a block to catch up to them.

Once Sheila had caught up, Claude turned to look at them both, "I know you don't want me to worry about money, but I'm not a fool, Sheila. You're still in school and Berger has a part time job, but I'm sure that money is barely enough to cover the three of you, much less me too... and I don't have anything to contribute. I don't have a job. I didn't even finish high school, for fuck's sake." Turning away, he buried his hands in his hair, "I'm not going to let you throw away what little money you have on taxis when we have a perfectly valid mode of transport that costs a fraction of that less than a block away." When Sheila opened her mouth to retort, he ran right over her, " _I won't let you._ OK? I'll be fine. I'll be fine. I'll be-" He abruptly cut off the words and cursed under his breath. Deliberately releasing his hair, he straightened up and squared his shoulders. Looking them each firmly in the eyes, he said quietly and intensely, "I'll be fine. Let's just get this over with." He then turned on his heel and started walking the rest of the way down the block, eyes firmly fixed on his destination, not looking left or right.

Berger and Sheila looked at each other, worry etched deep in each of their faces. Finally, Berger took Cheryl from her and waved her on. Claude had paused at the entrance to the subway, a set look on his face. Sheila recognized it as Claude at his most stubborn. It was the same look that he'd worn the night that he didn't burn his draft card. Fighting off a shiver, she forced a bright smile onto her face and laced her arm through his. Berger joined them at the stairs, a mischievous look on his face. He plopped Cheryl into Claude's arms, then raced past him down the stairs... and jumped the turnstile. Sheila just stared at him. Eventually, she snorted out a laugh as she and Claude descended the stairs to join him, "I can't believe you just did that!"

Berger shrugged, an unsure but game smile dancing around the edges of his lips, "Well... no one's here to catch me at it and I figure Claudio's got a point. Why waste money on something we can get for free?"

Claude's lips twitched, then stretched into a slow smile. Handing Cheryl to Sheila, he walked over to the turnstile, took in a deep breath and vaulted over it. Turning to Berger, he smirked, "It's been a while. I wasn't sure I still had it in me."

Berger pulled him into a tight hug, slapped him on the back, then motioned for Sheila to join them. Sheila rolled her eyes, but passed Cheryl over the turnstile and then wormed her way under it. As she dusted herself off, she shook her head sadly, "What _are_ we teaching our daughter?"

Berger just leaned close and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. Eyes shining, he answered, "To do whatever she can to help a friend."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** And now for some excessively, ridiculously long (and silly) chibi-silliness
> 
> Claude: Hmmm...
> 
> R-chan: Better already?
> 
> Claude: *frowns* The jury's still out.
> 
> R-chan: Aw... Come on. You got happy memory fluff!
> 
> Claude: *scowls* Yeah, but I know what happens in the next chapter. And you made my mom cry.
> 
> R-chan: O_O Can't win for losing, can I?
> 
> Claude: *smirk* You could always write me sex, you know.
> 
> R-chan: *sweatdrop* You're the one who talked me out of it!
> 
> Claude: *sweatdrop* Aw crap. I did.
> 
> _Questions, Comments, Rutabagas?_
> 
> Nuriko: HOLD ON A MINUTE!
> 
> R-chan: O_O My goodness. What?
> 
> Nuriko: *eyes wild* Did I hear that right? He had to talk you _out_ of writing him sex? Which implies you were willing to write it for him in the first place? What the **fuck**?
> 
> R-chan: O_O I... um... well... Look, I didn't say I _would_. I was just... well... considering it. You know.
> 
> Nuriko: ;_; *wobble eyes*
> 
> R-chan: *sweatrain* I... well... I just... I'm sorry! *runs away*
> 
> Claude: *awed look* You chased away the fic author. You have to teach me how you did that.
> 
> Nuriko: *smirk* Long familiarity and natural talent. Try it in fourteen years - I guarantee you'll have power over that girl like you can't imagine. *eg*


	3. River of Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude's first night home doesn't go nearly as smoothly as they all hoped, but given enough time, things start to get better... or do they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _December 3, 2010:_** And we finally have Claude at home! But... things aren't going quite so smoothly. Sorry Claude!

Damn it. Damn it, Damn it, Damn it! Claude quietly thunked his head back against the wall and let out a small moan. He'd tried. G-d help him, he'd really tried... he just couldn't do it. He slowly opened his eyes and stared across the room. Berger and Sheila were fast asleep in the bed, curled into the spot of warmth he'd left behind when he finally gave up and vacated his place between them. They'd been upset, earlier in the day, when he'd noticed that Suzanne's old room was now Cheryl's and then innocently asked where he was going to sleep. He huffed out a bitter little laugh. They'd been _very_ upset, Sheila especially. On some level, they must have both thought that now that they had him home, things could just go back to the way they'd always been. _He_ knew it wouldn't be that easy, that it would take time, but Sheila didn't really see the full extent of it. Berger... Claude thought Berger might understand. A little. But even he had a rose-colored veil over his eyes where Claude's recovery was concerned.

Claude sighed, let his head fall back against the wall, tried to remind himself that these were just the first little baby steps. Getting him home had been ordeal enough. After that, he hadn't been ready for another major battle, so when they both insisted that he sleep in the bed with them, he'd caved to the need so plain to see in their eyes. They needed him close. They needed to know he was there. They needed to be able to touch him. And he understood that, even welcomed it. It was just... Damn it, he couldn't do it. When he'd first settled in between them, for one brief moment, he'd been at peace. He'd felt safe, loved, protected. It was why he'd always loved sleeping between them, with Berger's warmth and strength at his back, Sheila's beauty and softness right in front of him. It had made him feel loved... needed. And it still did. For that one moment, everything had been all right... until suddenly it wasn't.

As first Sheila, then Berger had dropped off to sleep beside him, everything seemed to change. There were noises in the apartment - pipes banging, windows rattling, heaters hissing - all noises he could readily identify, but still noises that he was unused to... noises that startled him back to full awareness every time he started to drift off. And then there was the bed, itself. It was soft, it was comfortable and warm and it should have felt so wonderful to finally have a safe haven in which to rest... but he couldn't see the door. And there were too many blankets to throw off if he had to get up quickly. And with Sheila on one side of him and Berger on the other, anyone wanting to get to him would have to go through one of them... and he couldn't keep them safe that way.

After almost an hour of laying there, fitfully starting at every random noise and movement, Claude couldn't take it anymore. He was going to wake one of them up or go mad trying not to if he continued on this way. So, he'd wiggled himself down to the foot of the bed and out from under the covers, then crouched at the foot of the bed, heart hammering as he tried to decide what to do next. He'd finally made his way over to his belongings, shame flushing his face a deep scarlet, to unbury his fatigue jacket from the bottom of his duffel bag. It was one of the only things he had left that was his, that had survived his tour in Viet Nam, and like him, it was much the worse for wear. Being reunited with it after all that time in the hospital had felt bizarrely like reunited with a long-missed friend. He ran his hands over it, feeling for the spots where his ID patches had once been, for the embroidery stitching that still proudly proclaimed what the government considered to be the only important information about him... U.S. Army. He could practically feel the words "property of" stitched on the jacket above them, even though logically, he knew they'd never been there. He moved on, gently running his fingers over each tear, each worn spot... each hole. The stains were gone, he knew that without even looking, but in the dark, his fingers tricked him into believing they were still there. Blood, dirt, sweat and tears. He'd lived in this fatigue jacket for two and a half years - it had worn its fair share of each.

Once he'd finished surveying it, he'd crept back into Sheila and Berger's bedroom and found a corner from which he could watch both the bed and the door and curled up in it, jacket wrapped tightly around him. And that was where he'd sat, unmoving, for the last three hours.

A small movement from Berger's side of the bed drew Claude's hyperaware senses that way. There it was again. It wasn't much, but Berger had definitely moved. A moment later, Berger's hand quested into the space he'd left behind, felt around, then paused. Even knowing it was probably coming, Claude nearly jumped out of his skin when Berger shot bolt upright, eyes wild and chest heaving in panicked breaths. Shit. Quietly he called out to the other man, "Berger. Berger... I'm over here, man. Don't wake up Sheila."

Berger's wild eyes slowly shifted from their panicked flickering to focus on the source of the voice. It was strange, that moment. For just a minute, as he tried to catch Berger's unseeing eyes, Claude almost felt like the sane one. The thought made him snort out half a laugh, twitched the corner of his lips upwards. What was it that Berger had said that first day? _It was like the blind leading the fucking blind._ Wasn't that the truth?

Eventually, Berger relaxed, eased himself out from under the covers and crept over to where Claude was sitting. He was calmer now, Claude could tell, but he'd been badly shaken when he woke to find Claude missing. His next actions confirmed it. When he reached the corner, he pressed himself as close to Claude as he could get, tucked his head into the crook of Claude's neck and let out a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob. Claude shifted his jacket to cover both of them, slid an arm around the younger man and pulled him in close. Berger took in a deep breath, let it out in another sobbing laugh. He murmured into the warmth of Claude's neck, so quietly that Claude almost didn't catch the words, wasn't sure he was even meant to, "Thought I'd lost you, again..." Claude just continued to hold him. They sat there like that, sharing the rhythm of their breathing until both began to calm. It was an old trick... a soldier's trick. Don't make noise. Don't make a sound. They'd find you if you did, even buried deep in your foxhole. If a fellow soldier needed comfort, they needed you to give it silently... if they'd let you give it at all. And sometimes this was enough, simple human contact and the rhythm of shared breathing. Apparently, it was this time, too.

Berger lifted his head from Claude's shoulder, gently bumped their noses together, "What are you doing out here, Claudio? Aren't... aren't you uncomfortable?"

Claude shrugged, still embarrassed that he'd had to flee the bed in the first place, "Not really. I've... I've slept in worse places."

Berger's body went still against him, then he winced, "Jesus, Claude... I'm sorry. I didn't think."

Claude shrugged again, sank down into the folds of his jacket, "It's OK, Berger. Don't worry about it." Risking a glance upwards, he caught Berger's eyes again, bright green and full of worry and remorse. Sighing softly, he tightened his grip, pulled Berger's head back down to his shoulder, "I just... I couldn't sleep."

Berger frowned, eyebrows drawing together, "But... you were sleeping just fine in the hospital. This shouldn't be that much... Oh." Something about the way that Claude suddenly wouldn't meet his eyes, about the way his body went utterly still in the effort not to betray himself, clued Berger in to the real problem. Quietly, he amended, "You... You still weren't sleeping in the bed... were you?"

Pulling his arm back under the jacket, Claude edged away an inch or two. It was ridiculous, but he somehow felt like he'd let Berger down... like he'd lied to him. And that wasn't fair. He'd never _told_ Berger he'd gotten over that issue, Berger had assumed that all on his own. Unable to take the mild accusation in those greengreen eyes any longer, Claude jerked himself to his feet and bolted from the bedroom. Of course, Berger followed him, no doubt worried that Claude would make a break for the door.

Claude didn't run far, though. In a twisted mirror of the night they'd met, this time, _he_ was the one who ended the chase early. He only fled as far as the living room and this time it was Berger's turn to pause several feet away, confused and afraid. Claude just stood there, facing away from Berger and staring out the window. Almost unconsciously, he lifted his fatigue jacket, slid his arms into it and hugged it tight around himself. It was flimsy protection... but at least it was something that was _his_.

Berger stepped closer, one arm outstretched, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it, it's just... Jesus, Claude, I wish you'd told me. I never would have... I wouldn't have let Sheila..." He dropped his arm, defeat written in every line of his posture, "I guess it doesn't really matter what I would've done, huh?"

Slowly turning back to face him, Claude reached out to take hold of that dropped hand, pulled it close and planted a gentle kiss on the knuckles. It was reminiscent, that gesture, reminiscent of younger, more innocent days. Berger's lips twitched into half a grin at the shared memory. Once he'd relaxed, Claude explained, "It isn't that I don't want to. I _do_ want to... to be able to be with you both - _really_ with you both - warm and safe and... G-d... Berger I want it more than anything." Looking up to meet Berger's eyes, he said firmly, "But I can't. Not yet. It's too soon."

Berger nodded, eyes understanding, "I get it." At Claude's quirked eyebrow, he snorted out a laugh, "I really do get it, Claudio. I... I didn't think it was a great idea to force the issue tonight, but Sheila thought... Fuck, it doesn't matter what Sheila thought. I knew it was a bad idea and I should have stood my ground. I'll do better by you next time."

When Claude continued to look confused, Berger sighed, "I didn't really tell you much about the two and a half years you were gone. I... I guess I figured you didn't need any added issues on top of your own. But, you're better now and I think it might help you to hear this." Tugging gently on Claude's hand, he pulled him over to the couch, sat down next to him.

He kept Claude's hand in his, gently stroked it as he started to talk, "Claude... when you left... Jesus, I was a wreck. I know I've told you that before, but I'm not sure you really understood what I meant. I fell into some pretty hardcore drugs, yeah, but it was more than that. I was living on the streets... fuck, there were days I was barely sane. In a lot of ways, I was as bad off here as you were when you first came back." At Claude's indrawn breath, Berger looked up, gave him a wry grin, "Told you it was like the blind leading the blind, didn't I? Anyway, the others, they tried to help, they really did, but I was bound and determined to lose myself. It wasn't until Sheila told me she was pregnant with my kid that I managed to wake up a little. Still wasn't easy and withdrawal was absolute hell, but I got myself clean, got back in touch with my parents... got a job. But you know something, Claudio? After all those nights sleeping out in Central Park or sleeping in some dirty alley, there are nights when I get so claustrophobic that _I_ can't sleep in that bed, either. I end up on the couch, or in the armchair, or on the floor... on really bad nights, I'm out on the fire escape. So, when I tell you I get it... I really do get it, OK?"

Claude sighed, slowly nodded, "OK, Banana-Berger. This time, I hear you." Letting his head drop onto Berger's shoulder, Claude wearily rubbed at his temples, "So... what now?"

Berger turned, pressed a soft kiss to the top of Claude's head, "That's up to you, Claudio. Couch, armchair, floor or fire escape?"

Claude winced, answered softly, "I... I think I'll try the floor. That... that might be best."

Huffing out a laugh, Berger eased Claude off his shoulder and stood up, "You mean _we'll_ try the floor, Claudio." When Claude opened his mouth to raise an objection, Berger dropped down onto his knees in front of him, placed one gentle finger to his lips and shook his head. He then said, simply, "Please, Claude... Please."

And Claude understood. In light of that little piece of story Berger had told earlier, it made perfect sense. And now that he took a closer look into those deep, green eyes, he could see it, plain as day... fear. Berger was terrified to let him out of his sight now that he had him home, was terrified that Claude would disappear like so much smoke... or like some drug-induced hallucination. Claude raised his hands to cup Berger's face, leaned forward and pressed a soft, almost hesitant kiss to those fear-dried lips. Berger let out another one of those little sob-laughs before leaning up and forward to carry the kiss back to him. It was their first one since the day Berger had first brought Sheila to see him and it was soft, chaste, and far less passionate than most kisses they'd shared in the past, but it was no less intense for all of that. This was about comfort, pure and simple. When they finally released the kiss, neither moved, both still hovering with their eyes closed, lips barely centimeters apart. When Claude spoke his response, his lips pressed back against Berger's with every other syllable and Berger drank in that contact like a man drowning... "So, you want to get a blanket from the closet while I sneak into the bedroom and steal your pillow off the bed?"

Berger opened his eyes and just smirked before pressing another soft kiss to Claude's lips and getting up to go to the hall linen closet. Claude also rose and turned back to the bedroom. When he reached the side of the bed, however, he felt a brief pang of remorse. Sheila looked so peaceful, so beautiful, lying in the bed like that. Her golden hair was spread out over the pillow like a halo around her head and a soft, relaxed smile rested on her face. He swallowed hard, suddenly uncertain that he was making the right choice. It seemed... it seemed wrong somehow, to leave Sheila alone in here.

Footsteps behind him alerted him to Berger's presence before the other man got anywhere near him. He stepped up behind Claude and wrapped his arms around him, pressed a gentle kiss to the back of his neck, "It's OK, man. She'll understand."

Claude husked out a quiet, "You promise?"

He could feel Berger's smirk against the back of his neck as the younger man pressed another kiss to that spot, "I promise, Claudio. She'll understand. Come on, man. I'm tired."

Claude didn't need any further encouragement. He followed Berger out into the living room, then smiled softly at what he saw. Berger had made a pallet of blankets, maybe five or six deep, on the floor between the bedroom, Cheryl's room and the front door. Eyeing the placement of that pallet of blankets, Claude's breath caught in his throat. From this vantage point, he could easily see every entrance into and out of the main room of the apartment, and more importantly, it put him between the front door and Cheryl and Sheila. Anyone coming into this apartment would have to go through him to get to the girls... or Berger, if Claude placed himself correctly. Berger stepped up behind him again, placed a kiss on his shoulder, this time. He spoke quietly, almost whispering, into Claude's ear, "I told you I get it, Claude. Now... can we go to bed?"

Nodding vehemently, and not quite trusting his voice, Claude knelt down by the blankets. He eyed the door for a moment, eyed the blankets again, then finally laid himself down facing the front door, his back to the girls' rooms. Wordlessly, Berger laid himself down behind him, facing the other way, back pressed against his. Somehow... he hadn't expected that. He'd expected Berger to want to hold him and was almost disappointed that that clearly wasn't the case. Turning to look behind him, Claude frowned, "Banana-Berger?"

Berger's smile flashed white in the darkness as he rolled over to face him, "You'll sleep easier this way, Claudio. Trust me. You watch the door, I'll watch your back, OK?"

Claude's heart gave one more hard thump in his ribcage at those words and the gentle understanding behind them. Rolling fully over to face the other man, he took one precious moment to curl into Berger's arms, one precious moment to feel safe and protected, one precious moment to feel like nothing had changed and they were innocent kids again, camping on the floor of Sheila's apartment because they'd been kicked out of the bed for roughhousing. It was a glorious moment... and over too soon. Claude pulled away, briefly touched his forehead to Berger's, then rolled back over to face the door. Berger pressed one last kiss to the back of Claude's neck then rolled back over, too. And with the firm strength of the hardwood floor underneath him and the even firmer strength of Berger at his back, this time Claude found it far, far easier to fall asleep.

* * *

Sheila had startled them both awake the next morning by racing out of her bedroom, hair and eyes a little wild, yelling for them both. That little fiasco had ended with Claude hiding under the dining room table, Cheryl crying and Berger trying desperately to soothe all three of them before the neighbors called the cops. Of course, once Sheila saw that they were both all right and figured out what must have happened, she immediately calmed and couldn't get the apologies out fast enough. Claude took a little longer, but once he understood that she hadn't been angry, had only been _worried_ , he calmed, as well. And once the three adults were calm, Cheryl immediately went back to being all smiles and demanded hugs from them all.

The next couple of weeks were... well, they were strange, for lack of a better description. Even getting off to that rocky start, they fell into a routine faster than Claude would have imagined they could. Sheila and Berger already had their schedules worked out so that one of them could be home with Cheryl at all times, so it was no real hardship that one of them needed to be home for Claude, too. As far as Claude was concerned, that was already one tremendous worry off his back. He knew he was still unstable, wasn't ready to be on his own yet. It was getting better already, but he knew he wasn't anywhere close to being ready to take care of himself.

And those weeks... well, again, they were strange. Neither Sheila or Berger was condescending about it, but in a way, they were both treating him a bit like a second child. If he were a little less unsure of himself, the coddling probably would have chafed. As it was, however, he was mostly just grateful to have a chance to settle into life and know that someone else was taking care of all the more difficult details. Then again, there were times...

"So, what do you think, honey? Do we want to go to the park or somewhere quieter like the library? I heard they're having a story hour! Doesn't that sound like fun?"

Claude twitched from his spot on the couch. Really... When no further commentary was forthcoming, he slowly rose and paced over to stand in Cheryl's bedroom doorway, leaning as casually as he could against the doorframe. When Sheila turned away from getting Cheryl changed to give him a beaming smile, he raised an eyebrow, answered dryly, "Were you talking to me or to Cheryl, just now? Because, honestly, Sheila... with the tone you were using, I couldn't quite tell."

Sheila at least had the grace to blush and duck her head. Cheryl giggled and blew a raspberry at her mother. Sheila cleared her throat, reached for a clean diaper, "I... I'm sorry, Claude. I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

Claude ruefully shook his head, walked over to wrap an arm around Sheila's shoulders, "I know you didn't. But you've been doing it to me an awful lot the last few days." Sheila opened her mouth to retort, but Claude held up a finger for silence and she subsided. He continued, "You do it to a lot of people, Sheila. Honestly, I've always considered it part of your charm. And I know that Berger lets you get away with it, though G-d only knows why, but you know I never did. I don't plan to start, now. I may not be having the easiest go of it at the moment, but I'm still an adult, still your equal. This won't work if you start treating me otherwise." With a soft smile, he then tucked that finger under her chin and tipped her face up to press a soft kiss to her cheek, "This family needs two adults or it won't function... and you know Berger doesn't want that particular job no matter how admirably he's been doing with it for the last year. So why don't we start setting the right precedents now, hmm?"

Sheila stared up at him for a minute, then ducked her head. Muttering under her breath about the fumes in here, she started wiping furiously at her eyes. Claude didn't believe it for a minute. Eventually, she took a deep breath, finished with Cheryl's diaper, reordered her clothes, and put her down on the ground. That accomplished, she turned back to Claude and tucked herself up against his chest. Eagerly obliging, Claude wrapped his arms around her. She let out a relieved sigh, "You're right. Claude, you're absolutely right. It's just... it's hard. I've been taking care of everyone for so long... it's a little hard to let go, you know?"

Claude smiled, placed a gentle kiss on top of her head, "I know. But you don't have to do it all alone anymore, Sheila. Surely living with Berger, especially since Cheryl was born, has taught you that. And I _will_ get better. I will. It's going to take time, but I'm going to get there. And when I do, things will get even easier. I guarantee you that. I _want_ that... to be Cheryl's father in more than just name. I want to be an equal partner with the two of you and I'm going to work hard to get there as fast as I can. I promise." He leaned back to look her in the eyes, "Just... please stop trying to insist that I should want to subsist on grilled cheese and pancakes and that my favorite activities are story time at the library and playing in the sandbox at the park." He winced, "Neither one of us will survive my recovery if you keep that up, OK?"

Sheila stared up at him for a moment, then her lips twitched and she started to laugh. When she eventually sobered, she let out a small groan, "Oh, no... Claude... I didn't really do that to you, did I?" He merely arched an eyebrow. Letting out another laughing groan, Sheila just shook her head, "OK, then I'm really sorry. You didn't deserve that and I don't know why I did it. I'll do better from now on." Taking a deep breath, she stepped back away from Claude and shook back her hair, "All right, then, Claude... what _would_ you like to do today?"

Claude looked back and forth between Sheila and Cheryl for a moment, then a slow smile started to stretch across his features. Pulling Sheila back into his arms, he said, "Well... it's a little corny, actually... and it's not exactly close... but I happened to see on the news last night that the Rockefeller Center tree is arriving today..."

Sheila met his twinkling brown eyes then a matching smile spread across her own features. Having just declared himself an adult, Claude must have no idea how much like an eager child he looked in that moment. She decided not to point it out to him, discretion being the better part of valor and all that. Instead, she laughed, "You want to go watch them truck it in?"

Claude ducked his gaze, looked away for a moment. Finally, he quietly answered, "I... My mom and I used to go watch them bring the tree in. We went every year until I was about thirteen. My..." He frowned, forced the word out, "My _father_ used to join us for the lighting ceremony, but the day they brought the tree to the city, that day was just for my mother and I. It was... I suppose it was our special day. We would go watch them put the tree up, then go ice skating... and drink hot cocoa. It... I guess it's kind of stupid, actually."

Raising a hand to his face, Sheila turned him back to her. Standing on her tiptoes, she reached up to kiss his cheek, "No, sweetheart. It isn't stupid. It's a fantastic idea. However... I think maybe we should wait until this afternoon to go." At Claude's frown, she explained, "Just because your father wasn't involved, doesn't mean Berger shouldn't be." Claude's eyes widened and that smile stretched wide again. Sheila planted a kiss on the tip of his nose, "Actually, I think it sounds like the start of a beautiful family tradition, don't you?"

Claude pulled Sheila tight against him, buried his face in her hair. It was so different... _G-d_ , it was so different. He almost couldn't reconcile it. In his experience, this wasn't what a family was, this easy acceptance, this wide open love and affection. He'd had moments, flashes of this in his childhood, but only with his mother. He'd never known that it could be like this with a whole family. To his everlasting horror, his breath caught in his throat, presage to a set of tears, he was sure. Biting down hard on his lip, he fought them back. He would not cry, not over this, not over something that made him _happy_ , damn it. Sheila just held him through it, stroked gentle hands through his hair and down his back.

When she felt him calm, she let him go and smiled up at him. Sighing heavily, Claude managed to smile back. Sheila bent down to pick up a clamoring Cheryl and then said brightly, "Well, Berger's done with work at two, today, right? So, if we plan to meet him there before he gets out and then make our way up to Rockefeller Center, we should leave here around one. That gives us about three hours to kill until then... and enough time for _someone_ to take a nap." Smiling wryly, she added, "And for the record, that time I _was_ talking to Cheryl, OK, Claudio? I don't want any confusion."

Claude laughed, pulled them both in for another hug, "Don't worry, Sheila. That time, I understood." Placing a smacking kiss on the top of both of their heads, he then let them go, "Well, I actually have a suggestion for that, too. In the middle of that news broadcast, there was a commercial. Apparently, they're starting the Christmas movies early this year... and the first one they're playing is 'It's a Wonderful Life.' For some reason... that movie seems disturbingly appropriate right about now." Glancing over at the clock, he said, "And I believe it's starting in about a half hour."

Throwing her free arm around him, Sheila squeezed Claude tightly to her, "Claude... I have _missed_ you!"

Cradling them both close, Claude just closed his eyes and drank it in, "I've missed you, too, sweetheart... I've missed you, too."

* * *

Berger stared at the clock and drummed his fingers on the counter. Friday mornings were usually pretty slow at the store, but today just seemed to be dragging like nobody's business. He'd only had two customers all morning. It was times like these that made it the most difficult for him to keep in control and not end up doing something crazy that would get him fired. And it was especially hard when he knew he had Claude - Claude! G-d that felt good to think - sitting at home and waiting for him. Fortunately, Dennis was due in in another twenty minutes and then he was free and clear for the rest of the day. He could go home, wrap himself around Claude and not let go for the next hour... or six.

He was just starting to get real good and glaze-eyed at the warm fantasy he was building in his head when he was rudely and abruptly jerked out of it by the tinkling of the front door chime. Jerking upright, he whipped around to face the door, smile already firmly planted even as he was still fumbling in his own mind to get his thoughts back into the present. And what he saw framed by the door certainly didn't help. For just a moment he thought he was having a flashback. Claude and Sheila were standing in the door to the shop, bundled up against the cold, roses in their cheeks, hair tousled from the wind and love and laughter in their eyes as they looked his way. It was like a snapshot of the past come to life with all of them carefree and happy. He rubbed his eyes, tried to clear them of whatever daydream haze was left. The vision remained. He stared dumbly at the pair in the doorway for another minute, trying to reconcile what his eyes were seeing with what his brain was telling him should be there. Fortunately, Cheryl chose that moment to let out a shrill complaint at being ignored from over Sheila's shoulder where she was strapped into her sling on her mother's back. That finally did what Berger had failed to do - allowed him to register that this was, in fact, reality. Claude and Sheila _were_ here... in the store... in public... laughing and smiling.

Berger let out a wild whoop and leapt over the counter to meet them at the door. When he reached them he grabbed them both up into a hug, pressed laughing kisses to both their faces, then reached behind Sheila to give Cheryl a smacking kiss of her own. She giggled with delight, thrilled as always to see her father so exuberant. Once he'd claimed another kiss from each of them, Berger finally took a step back, beaming grin still firmly in place, "So... what brings you two here on this gooooooorgeous November day? Hmm?"

Sheila laughed, shoved hard at his shoulder, "We can't just want to visit you? We have to have some ulterior motive?"

Berger looked consideringly at her for a moment, held a finger up in the air as though he were thinking, then finally shook his head and said, "Yes." Ignoring Sheila's rolling eyes, he sidled up to Claude and batted his eyelashes at him, "Claudio...? Gonna give me a straight answer?"

Claude snorted, eyebrows raised in amusement, "Why should I? You never do."

"Awwww... Claudio..." Berger assumed a pouting expression, though he was secretly thrilled beyond belief at Claude's response. Granted, he was being rather soft-handed about it, but this was the closest he'd been able to come to baiting Claude since he'd found him all those months ago. For the first time in a long time, Claude looked like he might be ready to take it... and maybe even dish a little back. He'd missed that... Raising a hand, Berger pressed a finger into the spot on Claude's left cheek where a little dimple would occasionally show itself when the other man was really happy, "You know you're gonna tell me eventually, _any_ way..."

It was now Claude's turn to roll his eyes as he batted irritatedly at Berger's finger, "Oh, knock it off, already." Yet, in spite of the irritation in his voice, there was no such quality in the heated look he sent Berger's way. That look... G-d, how many nights had Berger dreamed of seeing Claude look at him that way again? Whole and happy... and wanting. It made him feel a little high to see it now. It made him want to rub himself into Claude's body like he was a giant cat and Claude so much catnip. Restraining the impulse with difficulty, he instead took a step closer to Claude, took the other man's hands in his and pressed their foreheads together, placed a soft kiss on the tip of Claude's nose. When he stepped back, he merely raised his eyebrow. Claude held his gaze for a moment longer, then rolled his eyes again and sighed, "We thought it might be fun to head up to Rockefeller Center and watch them truck in the Christmas Tree this afternoon, maybe do a little ice skating after, get a cup of hot chocolate or something. What do you think?"

There was something... Berger rubbed a thumb back and cross over Claude's knuckles. There was something more to the question. Claude was asking it nonchalantly enough, as though he didn't care what the answer was, but Berger got the feeling that that wasn't exactly the case. Claude cared about the answer to this question. It was important for some reason. Was Claude unsure about the crowds of people that might be there? Did he want him to say, "No?" Did he want Berger to put his foot down so he wouldn't try to push himself too hard, too soon? They'd taken forays out into the city before, sure, but never that far from home and never to a place where there were sure to be a lot of people. Honestly, Berger had never understood the appeal of the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree - that had always been his mom and his sister's thing. It had always seemed strange to him that to celebrate a holiday which celebrated a gift of birth, you killed a tree and then hauled its carcass into your living room to decorate it and dance and sing around it. It had always seemed awfully barbaric to him. But that was his opinion, and it sure hadn't made him popular with his extended family at the holidays, that was for shit sure. Claude, at the core, was a hell of a lot more traditional than Berger could ever hope to be. He probably didn't feel that way.

Berger turned to look at Sheila, trying to get some hint as to what the right answer was. Unfortunately, she'd gotten distracted by Cheryl pulling several parts of a display down. Shit. Turning back to Claude, he could see the faintest hint of a blush starting to creep up the sides of his neck. Quietly, he amended, "I mean... if you don't want to, that's all right..." And there it was. A hint of wistfulness. Claude wanted to go. Berger would lay even odds that it had even been his idea. And that was all the answer Berger needed. It didn't matter how stupid he thought it was. If Claude was feeling well enough that he _wanted_ to go out into a crowd of people to watch them put up the tree... well, there was no question that Berger would go with him.

Leaning forward, Berger touched their foreheads together, smiled softly, "Claude, I'd love to go. I haven't been that far uptown in ages. And you know how much I adore harassing the tourists." The relaxing of the tension in Claude's shoulders and the light smirk that touched his lips were the only clues Berger needed to know that he'd answered correctly.

Dennis chose that moment to walk in from the back. Berger eyed the clock and with another cheerful whoop, grabbed his timecard and punched out. As he reached behind the register to grab his jacket, he tossed Dennis a jaunty wave, "She's all yours, pal! I'm off. See you tomorrow!" Then before Dennis even had a chance to respond, Berger had Claude and Sheila's hands in his and was out the door.

It was nearly a block later that he registered Sheila tugging on his hand and yelling for him to stop. Worried that he'd done something to upset Claude, he immediately spun around to check on him. Claude just laughed and shook his head. Sheila scowled at him, hands on her hips, "Berger! Honestly. Could you just stop long enough to put your damned coat on? You'll get sick!"

Berger stared at her, blinked once or twice, turned to look at the coat in his hand and finally gave her a sheepish grin as he shrugged into it, "What difference would it make, anyway? If I get sick, I'm the one who'll suffer, not you."

Sheila gaped at him, finally swatted him on the shoulder, "Obviously, you've already forgotten the last time you boys got sick. And who was the one stuck playing nursemaid to you both, hmm? **Me** , that's who. So don't give me that, 'I won't be the one suffering' crap. Keep your coat on, button it up and shut up about it, OK?"

At the snap to her voice, Berger's eyes widened and he immediately started doing up the buttons. To his everlasting amusement, he caught Claude out of the corner of his eye doing the same. They met each other's eyes and shared a wry grin. There was just something about that damned mom voice... Sheila caught the grins going back and forth and laughed, "You know... I think I could get used to this." She then slid an arm through each of theirs and started tugging them along.

Maybe it was the idea of the Christmas tree. Maybe it was Sheila reminding them so forcefully of their first Christmas together. Maybe it was the way they'd both reacted like chastised little boys when she'd scolded. Whatever the case, Berger found himself feeling almost boyishly mischievous for the entire rest of that trip. The entire way up to Rockefeller Center, he kept reaching around Sheila to poke Claude in the side, tickle the inside of his ear... blow raspberries at him from behind Sheila's shoulder. And to his intense delight, Claude responded in kind every time. It was the most carefree he'd seen the other man since the first year he'd known him. It made him giddy with joy. For one day, one afternoon, one hour - Berger really didn't care - he had _his_ Claude back and they were having fun. No consequences, no worries, no flashbacks except the good kind, no fear. Berger didn't care if he got stuck getting hauled up to see this tree every damned year - if it prompted this sort of reaction, it would be well worth it.

When they finally reached Rockefeller Center, however, the bubble burst almost immediately. There was definitely a crowd of people there and several of them were holding picket signs. Oh shit. Berger even recognized a few of them. That was definitely Jackie... oh crap, Suzanne was there, too. And he wasn't the only one that saw them. Claude and Sheila both froze, as well. Claude hunched down in his coat, a miserable look on his face. Berger immediately stepped closer and wrapped an arm around him, "Easy there, Claudio. They haven't seen us and if we're careful they won't, OK?" Claude nodded, seemed to be willing to accept that assurance at face value... but Berger could feel the shivers running through that tall frame. Claude was spooked and that wasn't good. Berger stared around the immediate vicinity, hoping against hope that he would find something with which to distract Claude... and a tiny, grasping hand proved to be the answer. Without even asking, Berger plucked Cheryl out of her sling and plopped her into Claude's arms. Claude stared at her, unseeing. Cheryl stared right back. The tableau held for a full minute before Cheryl gave in and blew a very sloppy raspberry in Claude's face. Claude didn't stand a chance after that. He let out a soft huff of a laugh, buried his face in her neck and blew a raspberry right onto her skin. She giggled with delight and tangled her fingers in his hair, happily blowing as many raspberries as she could as quickly as she could.

Sheila reached out a hand to touch Berger's arm. Once she had his attention, she gave him a genuine, proud smile and mouthed, "Thank you." He smiled back and shrugged. When he stepped closer, she sighed, "Now what do we do? I'm afraid it would be a major setback for him to get this far and then be forced to go home, but if Jackie and Suzanne see us, they're bound to tell some of the others and word will spread like wildfire through the Tribe that Claude was spotted in Rockefeller Center. Berger... Jeanie can't find out that way, we owe her more than that. And you know she'll be among the first they tell."

Berger sighed, gently rubbed her back, "I know... I know. Shit. This _sucks_."

Before Sheila could come up with another response, Claude stepped closer, Cheryl held firmly against him, "Guys... it's OK. We made it here." Looking around, he let out a breath, "I'm standing at the edge of a crowd of fifty people and I don't feel an immediate need to hide behind a tree." Snorting softly, he added, "I won't speak for what would happen if you put me in the _middle_ of the crowd, but for now... I'm provisionally OK. That's better than I dared hope for." Raising a hand to cup Sheila's cheek, he said, "And we can always make hot cocoa at home. For this year... for this year, it's enough. OK?"

Berger and Sheila both met Claude's eyes in turn, then smiled. Berger slid a hand around the back of his neck, pulled him close to touch their foreheads together, "OK, Claudio. OK. Let's go home." Arms wrapped securely around each other's waists, the three turned and went back the way they'd come, at peace and in total concert for the first time in four years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**
> 
> OK, in lieu of chibi silliness (because I think Nuriko's still sulking and I _really_ don't want to set him off again O_O), I'm going to share a little interesting factoid and explain a little something at the same time. It's about the Rockefeller Center Tree. One of the interesting little factoids I found was this: "The first Rockefeller Center tree to be recycled was in 1971, driven by the growing environmental movement. The tree was turned into 30 three-bushel bags of mulch for the nature trails of upper Manhattan."
> 
> Yes, I do an insane level of research for these fics. What's your point?
> 
> *coughs* Moving on! Anyway, I thought that was very interesting, considering that this fic takes place in Manhattan in 1971. And if the city suddenly decided to recycle that tree due to the growing environmental movement... my first thought was that our Tribe would definitely have been out there with their picket signs being part of the pressure that made it happen. ^_^
> 
> Also, as a side tidbit: This year, the tree arrived on Friday, November 12th. In 1971, I don't know what day the tree arrived, but November 12th was also a Friday that year... and this chapter would have taken place mid-November. O_O
> 
> Yes. I _know_ I do an insane level of research for these fics. Why do you keep pointing that out? *twitch*
> 
> I just thought that was neat. A little creepy, but neat. ^_^ Anyway, more tidbits to come as I come across them. Thanks for reading!


	4. Zorya Vechernyaya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Berger and Sheila finally begin to learn the full extent of Claude's problems and start to realize that they may have bitten off more than they can chew. Fortunately, Cheryl's got a handle on things, even if they don't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _December 4, 2010:_** Yeah... I have a 20 page paper to write, so I got nothing. :-P But I should at least get props for finally managing to figure out the chapter breaks... right?

That night, after far too many Christmas movies and several cups of hot cocoa, Sheila sat in the armchair, idly twisting her mug back and forth between her hands. Cheryl was fast asleep in her crib and Berger was well on his way, too, sprawled out on top of Claude like a living blanket. Claude, however, was not nearly so tired... especially not with the look Sheila wore on her face boring holes into him with every passing second. Reaching out a hand, he gently touched her knee, "Sheila? What's up?" At her startled and immediately guilty look, Claude knew he'd hit the nail on the head, "Something's bothering you. I can tell. What is it? Was it... Was it this afternoon?"

Sheila sighed, put down her mug on the end table and reached down to take his hand in hers. As she slowly stroked her fingers over the back of his hand, she shook her head, "Not specifically, Claude. It's more what this afternoon meant." When Claude quirked his eyebrow, she sighed, "Neither one of us wants to push you too hard or too fast, Claude. You've made unbelievable progress in the last eight months and neither of us wants to belittle that, either. It's just... it's hard."

Claude shifted so that he could sit up and Berger immediately shifted with him to rest his head in Claude's lap and sling his arms around his waist. Claude dropped his free hand to rest in Berger's unruly mop of dark curls, dropped his gaze along with it. Swallowing hard, he said, "I... I understand. And I'm sorry."

Sheila reached out her other hand and tucked it under Claude's chin, forced him to look back up at her, "No, Claude. I don't really think you do. If you did, you wouldn't apologize." When Claude finally looked up and met her eyes again, she smiled, "If you had any idea what an incredible gift it was to have you back with us after so long thinking you were..." Her throat closed off before she could get the last word out. After another minute, she continued, "You wouldn't apologize. Nothing that's happened is your fault and we're going to support you however long your recovery takes. What's hard is that we want to share this gift with everyone else we love. It's been very difficult these last few months, not shouting it from the rooftops that you're alive and G-d only knows how Berger managed for the six months before that... but I don't want to do anything that's going to hurt you. And I think... I think having that many people all over you, in spite of none of them meaning you harm... I'm afraid it would scare you into a relapse. So, I'm willing to wait until you're ready, but that means that when I see certain members of the Tribe... Jesus, Claude. The last time Jeanie, Crissy and I had a girls' night, I couldn't look either one of them in the eye the whole night, I was so scared that I was going to give something away."

Claude turned, ducked his gaze again, "I... I don't know what to say, Sheila. No. That isn't true. I know what to say." Looking back up, he met her eyes, "I should tell you to tell them. I should tell you to invite them all over so that they can all get a look at me. I should. It... it's the right thing to do." Looking down again, he hunched his shoulders, "But I think... I think you might be right." Sheila gripped his hand tighter, lifted her other hand to stroke it through his hair. He took in a deep breath, shakily let it out, "Sheila... I looked out at that crowd of people today and felt nothing. No fear, no anxiety. But, that's almost the problem. There was **nothing**. No connection. They're my fellow New Yorkers, my fellow Americans, my fellow human beings... and they all could have dropped dead in that street and I wouldn't have cared." Gently freeing himself from both Sheila and Berger's holds, he rose from the couch, started furiously pacing.

Berger, jostled awake by the movement, sat up and rubbed at his eyes. He turned to look at Sheila and frowned, "The hell, man?"

Sheila shushed him, "Not now, baby. I think... whatever this is, I think he needs to get it out."

Claude paused by the dining room table, idly pushed at one of the mugs still sitting there. And the eyes he turned back on them... Sheila's breath caught in her throat. Those eyes... they were so desolate, so barren... so cold. Claude noted her reaction and let out a mild snort, "See? That... that's not normal, right? It shouldn't matter that I don't know them. It shouldn't matter that we've never met. If someone drops dead in front of you, you should care, shouldn't you? It should matter." Looking down, he stared at the mug in front of him, gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles were white with the strain, "It _should_ matter. If someone dies in front of you, it should _matter_. You should _care_. You should _feel_ something. I... Sheila, I don't feel anything. I don't... I don't feel **anything**. Why don't I feel anything?" With that last question almost a growl, he slashed his hand across the table, knocking the mug across it with such force that it flew off and shattered against the wall. Eyes wild and breathing heavy, he clenched his hands in his hair and cursed, low and intense, " **Fuck.** "

Berger let out a curse of his own, got up from the couch and took a step towards Claude. He'd had a long talk with Dr. Howard when the man finally agreed to let Claude out of the hospital, about things that they could expect from Claude once he was settled in. Berger knew what this was, what it was part of, but knowing didn't make it any easier to witness and it certainly didn't make it any easier to fix. Every instinct in him was screaming at him to go to Claude, to hold him, to soothe away the hurt... and that was the wrong instinct, he knew. Still, he stepped closer, determined to at least keep Claude from hurting himself... somehow.

Claude backed away from the table, pressed himself into the corner of the dining room and sank to the floor, hands still clutched in his hair. He looked up once, eyes almost desperate as they met Berger's. He lowered his hands, plucked at his shirt almost helplessly, "Why don't I care? I don't care. I _can't_ care." His eyes dropped away from Berger, started darting around the room, gaze shifting inwards towards some inner landscape that neither Sheila nor Berger could see. He started muttering, almost under his breath, "The others don't matter. They _can't_ matter. If you worry about the others, you're the one who suffers in the end... because they sure as _fuck_ don't worry about you."

Berger winced, dropped to his knees near Claude, "Claude... we _do_ worry about you. We care about you. We love you, remember? We want you with us because we love you. Please... Claudio... Come back to me. It's safe here, remember?"

Claude looked up, locked eyes with him for a moment, then he was off and away again into that desolate inner landscape, "Safe? Safe. Not safe. Never safe. Safety is a lie. A trap. Always a trap. Always a price... too high a price." He let out a soft, not-quite-sane laugh, screwed up his face into an expression of cruel mocking, "Take the pretties, little soldier. That's right... Take the pretties and enjoy them, feast on them, revel in them. But come morning, we'll come to collect the price of these gifts, whether it's one you're willing to pay or not." He then snarled, flung out a hand in negation, "Not willing. Gave up too much of myself already. Not anymore. No more. **No more.** " This time when his eyes met Berger's, he may have seen him... but Berger was sure he didn't _know_ him. Claude reached out a hand in entreaty, eyes pleading, desperate, "Please... no more. No more..." And with that last, his face crumpled and he collapsed in on himself, quietly keening in a way that Berger hadn't heard since that night he'd found him, nearly eight months ago.

He only vaguely heard Sheila sobbing quietly from her spot behind him, couldn't spare her even a moment's thought. Instead, he edged closer... closer... closer, still. With every inch he gained, Claude flinched again, let out a desperate whimper amidst the keening, but still Berger crept closer. Eventually, he got himself to the wall right next to Claude and started to talk, quietly, soothingly, the way he had when he'd first started visiting Claude in the hospital, talking about everything and nothing, anything just to keep his voice going, anything to try to talk him down out of this waking nightmare he'd inadvertently stumbled into. He talked about Sheila, about Cheryl, about the Tribe and his parents, talked about the autumn leaves in Central Park and the beauty of Bethesda Fountain in the chill of the morning. He talked and he talked and he talked.

Eventually, he talked about Claude, about how much he loved him, how happy he was to have him back, how much he'd missed him when he'd been gone... how desperately he didn't want to lose him now. Sheila had gone still behind him, as wrapped up in his words as Claude. After some time - Berger had no idea how long, except that it _had_ to have been a long time, judging by how sore his throat now was - Claude finally relaxed, allowed Berger to pull him into a loose, sheltering embrace. Berger closed his eyes and gave a fervent prayer of thanks to whatever god had been listening and had gotten them through this. It wasn't long after that that Claude fell asleep, beyond exhausted by that emotional storm.

Sheila rose from the chair, made her way over to kneel beside him. She rested a gentle hand on Berger's hair, pulled his head down to rest on her shoulder, "If you had any idea how much in awe of you I am right now, you'd laugh yourself sick."

Berger shrugged, continued stroking soothing hands through Claude's hair, "I didn't do anything. Just talked. That's all."

Sheila shook her head, "That's not all it was and you know it, Banana-Berger. You reached him, gave him a way back when there was no way back. I... I couldn't have... Berger, for a minute there, I was actually scared."

Raising his head to stare at her in shock, Berger said, "Of _him_?"

She shook her head, "No, not _of_ him... **for** him. Berger... if you hadn't been here, what would I have done?"

Berger lifted a hand to cup her cheek, pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. When he pulled back, he met her eyes with a determined look in his own, "You'd have found a way." Before she could argue, he smiled, gave her a gentle shake, "You'd have found a way, Sheila. But it doesn't matter. I _was_ here. And... somehow... I think you were right. I think he needed to get that out. If we don't know the problem, we can't start to fix it. And he was right about one thing... this sure as fuck _is_ a problem." Swallowing hard, he said, "Jesus... Sheila... how many people did he have to see die before he forced himself not to care? How many people... in how many awful ways? What did they do to him over there that he'd rather feel nothing at all than feel connected to another human being? What did they do to him that he can't trust a feeling of safety and comfort even coming from someone he loves?" Looking away, he said the last in a harsh whisper, "And is it cowardly of me that I don't really want to know?"

Pulling Berger against her in a tight embrace, Sheila slowly started rocking him, "No, baby. It's not cowardly. That war... That war is so awful. We've all read the news, seen it on TV. We can imagine what's going on over there all too easily. Banana-Berger, if you're a coward for not wanting to know more details than you already do, then so am I. But you know something else?" At his querying look, she smiled down at him, "I know you, Berger. If Claude needs to tell you every single one of those horrible details to get better, you're going to listen to all of them and you're just going to be glad that he feels comfortable enough to tell you. Right, baby?"

Berger let out a soft snort and turned a wry smile her way, "Yeah... yeah, I guess you're right."

Sheila smiled, kissed him, then slowly rose off the floor. Looking down at the two of them, she said, "Berger... honey, I know he's still not comfortable in the bed, but just for tonight... do you think he'd mind if we put him there? I... I think I'd feel better being near you both tonight, and I'm not sure I'm up to sleeping on the floor."

Berger looked down at Claude, stroked a soft hand through his hair, "You know... what he doesn't know won't hurt him. And I'll leave the blankets laid out in the hall so that if he wakes up in the middle of the night and wants to move, he at least has a place to go. All right?"

She nodded, "All right. Thanks, Berger."

Berger then slowly rose, Claude cradled loosely in his arms. When he gained his feet, however, he frowned. At Sheila's raised eyebrow, he abruptly shook his head, "Nothing, Sheila. Just... it's nothing." Looking down at Claude, he sighed, "Come on, Claudio. Let's get you tucked in. I have a feeling it's going to be a long night."

* * *

The transition from sleep to wakefulness happened instantly, with no transition, no buffer to allow the psyche to identify unfamiliar sensations before it was forced to deal with them. This was not an unusual occurrence and it had saved his life on more than one occasion. That didn't mean he didn't miss having those few precious moments to let the world register before he had to get up into it. He missed the time when awakening wasn't an instantaneous cacophony of terrifying noises and impressions that made no sense until far, far later. As he fought to calm his racing heart, fought to feign the impression of sleep until things made sense, he wearily began the process of cataloguing each noise, each smell, each feeling until he could determine which of the hundreds it was that had jolted him out of sleep.

It was warm. Warmth... softness. He was under blankets, head on a pillow, body on something just as soft. It took him several preciously ticking seconds to figure it out. He was on a bed. He was _on a bed_. Forcing himself to move past that, though his skin now crawled from the very contact with the surface upon which it laid, he focused on the next item. Smell. Clean smell. Not cleancleanclean like the hospital. This was the clean of flower-scented detergents, smells-good-enough-to-eat shampoos and soaps, air clearing incense. This was the clean of everyday life. This was the clean of _her_ apartment... now his home. Good. That was good.

Most important of all was the next item down the list: sound. People gave things away by sound, far more than they realized - the heavy tread of booted footsteps, the squelching noise of walking through mud, the rattling of heavy chains... the clatter of instruments on a tray. He didn't hear any of those here. No, none of the usual danger sounds. Here there were apartment sounds - pipes rattling, heaters kicking on and blowing steam, the creak of the floorboards as someone above them got out of bed. So what was out of place? What besides the mere fact of him being in the bed could have awakened him so abruptly?

Knowing that he was risking whatever was out there spotting him, but needing to know what had awoken him, he slowly edged his eyes open. Dark. It was very dark, the dark of a full night that hadn't even begun to edge its way towards dawn. More confused by the second, he finally pried his eyes open the rest of the way. He was on the right hand edge of the bed, any further over and he'd have fallen off. Still, Berger, the one who slept beside him, had crowded no closer than a foot away. He and Sheila were tucked together in the middle of the bed, each with a hand extended in his direction, neither quite bridging the gap far enough to touch, but both clearly wanting to. Both were deeply asleep. It hadn't been either of them who had awoken him... so what had it been?

He edged out from beneath the blankets, noted with mild surprise that someone had changed him into pajamas while he'd been asleep - if one could call the bone deep exhaustion that had tipped him into unconsciousness by so mild a name as sleep. He plucked at the sleeve of the pajama top, feeling a vague sense of recognition. He'd worn these pajamas before... With an irritated frown, he released the sleeve. It didn't matter. This was a distraction, nothing more. He surveyed the room, saw nothing out of place. Crouching low, he moved towards the door, edged himself out into the hallway, slowly, stealthily... and then he heard it. A thin, warbling cry sounded from off to his right. In a moment's shocked realization, he finally understood what had awoken him - it had been Cheryl. The sound was so faint that it hadn't even registered on the baby monitor, but his hyperaware senses had picked it out just the same. Letting out a small breath in relief, he rose from his crouched position and forced himself to walk the remaining distance to Cheryl's room normally. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her, no matter how frightened he'd been himself.

When he reached the open doorway, he peered inside, looked for anything that might be out of place. There was nothing. He stepped back out of the room, rested his back against the wall for a moment, forced himself to pause and think. What if she didn't recognize him at night? What if he wasn't who she wanted? Perhaps he should go back and wake one of the others. No. No. Berger had said it and Sheila had confirmed it - he was her dad. He was her parent, just like Sheila and Berger. He had every right to be the one to comfort her in the middle of the night. He... he could do this. He _had_ to do this. If he couldn't even connect with Cheryl enough to soothe her out of whatever nightmare had awoken her... If he couldn't even do that, then... G-d, there was no hope for him. Taking a deep breath, he turned, squared his shoulders and walked into Cheryl's room.

She was sitting up in her crib, eyes huge and unhappy. She had one thumb firmly planted in her mouth, the fingers of the other hand twirling circles in the curls of her hair. When she saw him, she sniffled once, testing the waters, and let a single teardrop fall from her left eye. He walked over to the crib, reached a hand down to touch the twirling fingers and said softly, "Hey, now... what's this? You couldn't sleep either, huh?"

At the sound of his voice, she let go of her curls and clamped her hand tightly around his questing fingers. She let out another little sniffle, pulled her lips down into a pout. In spite of everything, he found himself almost smiling, "What do you say, little one? Should we have a bit of a rock and you can tell me all about it?"

She seemed to consider his words for a moment, finally answered by shaking her head and reaching both hands up in the universal gesture for "I want to be picked up, now." Shaking his own head at the mixed signals, he nonetheless obliged. He lifted her out of the crib and tucked her securely against him, then walked over to the rocking chair and settled them both into it. She immediately drooped against him, rubbing her face against his chest and clutching her hands in his shirt. She then let out a little noise of complaint, kicked one leg against his knee. He smiled as he pulled her closer and, complying with the unspoken request, began to gently push his feet against the floor and set the chair to rocking. Immediately, she quieted, snuggled closer.

They sat there like that for several minutes, just enjoying the gentle rocking and creaking of the chair and the fact that each wasn't the only one awake. Eventually, however, she let out another little noise of complaint, shifted unhappily against him. He sighed, placed a soft kiss on top of her crown of curls, "Not much for the silent type, are you? I shouldn't be surprised. Your father... your pop... he isn't, either."

Cheryl looked up at him, made a generally contented noise of agreement, then pressed her face against his chest again. He sighed, "I wish I knew what to say to you, little one. I... There's so much in my head these days that I wouldn't want you to ever know. Nothing seems safe to say. Nothing seems safe to _do_. Like tonight... Jesus. How can I help teach you to love your fellow man when I can't even do it myself? What am I teaching you just by how I've been acting these last few weeks? Am I hurting you in the long run? I don't even know." His voice trailed off.

After another moment, however, he resumed speaking, "It's the strangest thing, though, Cheryl... even with this whole disconnect between me and the rest of humanity, somehow I don't have that problem with you." Cheryl lifted her head, gave him a sleepy smile, then leaned foreword to press her forehead against his nose. Recognizing the gesture, Claude smiled, obliged her with a kiss, "I don't know what it is about you, sweetheart, but loving you is easy, even though we hadn't met before I left. It's as easy as loving your parents. And I do love them, you know. I love all of you. Somehow that held, even when nothing else did." His voice quieted, "You have no idea how grateful I am for that."

And there was something about sitting there in that rocking chair with Cheryl's sleepy form growing heavier and heavier against him as he rocked them both. It was so soothing, so relaxing. He hadn't realized how desperately he needed that soothing for himself until the tension he'd been carrying for the last few weeks started to ease. He hadn't wanted to trouble Berger or Sheila, but this fear that he would never again fit in with normal people was a huge and all-consuming one. It was easy when it was just he and their little family. It was easy when it was just him and Cheryl, like now. Even when they went out in public, as long as they didn't run into anyone who should matter, Claude could keep it contained. But today... today when he'd looked across that sea of humanity and recognized faces in the crowd, he'd been terrified. He'd been terrified that even with that recognition he would feel no more for them than he did for the faceless ones around them. He'd been afraid that he would recognize Jeanie or Crissy or Woof... and feel the same absolute nothingness for them that he did for everyone else... everyone except Cheryl and Berger and Sheila.

That thought had settled in his brain and started eating at him, continued eating at him the entire way home and into the evening. He'd brought to mind every name, every face that he remembered from his days with the Tribe - Jeanie, Woof, Crissy, Dionne, Hud... everyone - then started picturing them all injured, dead, mutilated in more and more gruesome ways. And it was easy - far easier than he liked - because he'd seen them all die before... in that trip he'd taken at the Be-In prior to turning himself in at the induction center. He didn't plan on _ever_ telling Berger that. And maybe it was the shock of seeing people that he knew that afternoon or maybe it was the shock of having realized how wide the gulf had grown between himself and the rest of the human race, but whatever the cause, the result had been the same. He couldn't feel anything, even for the people who had been his friends. With each remembered friend that he brought to mind, with each violently choreographed death or dismemberment, there was no feeling. Nothing. No anger, no grief, no remorse... just _nothing_. And the more he'd tried to tempt a feeling to surface, the deeper it would dive away from him. And then when Sheila had unknowingly forced the issue, he'd had no protective barrier left against the horror of his own imagination.

Ironically, he felt better now, less tense about it, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that nothing had changed. Even though some of the pressure had been released by his outburst, the basic problem remained - no matter which Tribe member he pictured dieing, he couldn't make himself feel anything about it. And how could he face any of them with that reality churning in his gut? How could he look into the eyes of someone who would be beyond happy and excited to see him after four years apart and tell them that he couldn't give a shit whether or not they lived or died. He couldn't. He didn't _want_ to. He just couldn't see a way around it. He couldn't fake something like that. It was too big.

He shifted his grip on Cheryl, settled her more comfortably against him. She barely moved. At some point in the last few minutes, she'd gotten her thumb back into her mouth and started twirling her other hand in his hair like she usually did in her own. It was precious and it was probably an indication that he should tuck her back into bed. Still, he didn't move. There was something about having her settled safely in his arms, something about being able to wrap himself around her and keep her safe... something about being so close. It eased him in a way that almost nothing else did. This was something he could do. Pressing another kiss to Cheryl's head, he murmured, "What do you say, little one? Just a few more minutes, then we'll tuck you into bed, hmm?" There was no more response from Cheryl, not even a sleepy complaint. She was out like a light. Claude smiled, continued rocking, "Yeah... just a few more minutes. Just... a few more..." With Cheryl's sleeping weight acting like a living blanket, Claude never even noticed when his body finally made that soft transition from drowsiness into full sleep.

* * *

Standing in the doorway of Cheryl's room, Berger felt a soft, sappy grin take over his face. He'd awoken barely a few seconds after Claude got up from the bed. Seeing the other man crouched near the door and surveying the room had allowed him to forestall the instinctive fear that rose when he knew that Claude wasn't beside him anymore. He'd followed Claude out of the room, into the hallway, saw the exact moment when Claude figured out that it had been Cheryl's soft cry that had awoken him. He'd thought about intervening when he saw the other man back out of Cheryl's room, but decided to wait, to see what happened.

He was glad he had.

Witnessing that perfect moment between Cheryl and Claude, hearing Claude acknowledge - regardless of the man's own surprise at the emotion - that he loved Cheryl, loved Berger and Sheila, too, had made it all worth it. All the pain of earlier in the night, all the stress of the last few weeks, months, years... it was all worth it for that moment. And seeing his baby girl respond to Claude's mere presence as confidently as though he really were her father... it was wonderful. Berger couldn't have been happier if he tried.

Now that they were both asleep, he considered taking Cheryl and tucking her back into bed, guiding Claude out into the hallway to go to sleep on that pallet of blankets, but something held him back. He hadn't seen Claude so relaxed in sleep in the entire time that he'd been home with them. There was even a tiny smile resting at the corner of his lips. He couldn't disturb that, wouldn't want to even if he could. And besides, Claude kept insisting that he'd slept in worse places, so sleeping in a well-cushioned rocking chair for one night should be no major hardship. So, rather than disturb either of them, he simply appropriated one of the comforters from the pallet of blankets on the floor, quietly entered Cheryl's room and draped it over them both. The nights were getting colder and colder this time of year and he didn't want either of them getting sick.

As he turned to leave, however, a touch on his hand stayed him. Looking down at the source of the touch, he smiled. Claude had reached out, lightly hooked his long fingers around Berger's. When he let his gaze travel upwards, though, he saw with wry amusement that Claude was, in fact, still asleep. He lightly squeezed the other man's fingers, pressed soft kisses to both his and Cheryl's foreheads. Claude shifted, cuddled down into the blanket. Berger smiled down at them, wanted nothing more than to curl up by Claude's feet and sleep right there. Still... they _had_ been leaving Sheila alone on far too many nights. Oh, she understood, just as he'd promised Claude she would, but that still didn't mean it was fair. Claude and Cheryl would be fine in here together and Berger had the feeling that Claude might need to stretch the boundaries of his independence a little. And this was a fantastic first step. The more comfortable he felt, the more stable, the stronger he felt, the better chance they would have at reintroducing things from their old life... namely old friends. Gently extricating his hand and giving each of his sleeping beauties another kiss, Berger turned away from them to leave the room. He was unsurprised to find Sheila waiting for him in the doorway. Her hair was sleep-tousled, her blue eyes hazed with drowsiness. She looked beautiful. Stepping closer, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pressed a soft kiss to her lips, "Hey, gorgeous. Didn't mean to wake you."

She smiled, let her head drop onto his shoulder as she, too, took in the scene in Cheryl's room, "You didn't. Not really. At least I don't think so. I think it was Claude getting up that actually woke me. Everything all right?"

Berger smiled, leaned his head down to rest against hers, "Yeah, I really think it is. I followed him, thought he'd need me, but he did fine. He and Cheryl, man... she's the best medicine we could give him, you know?"

Sheila smiled, planted a soft kiss on the underside of Berger's jaw, "I've noticed that. It's a wonderful thing, Berger. I'm glad he has her." Leaning back, she lifted a hand to cup his cheek and the eyes she turned up to meet his were shining with love, "And you, baby. Without the two of you... I don't even want to think about it."

Shaking his head, Berger pulled Sheila's hand down from his face, planted a gentle kiss on the palm, "You, too, Sheila. It isn't just me and Cheryl. He's different with you, he always has been. It's like he needs to prove that he's worthy of you, and right now that means working as hard as he can to get better, to reach a point where he's self-sufficient. It's a good thing and something he needs... something to work towards. It's something I can't give him, but you can."

Sheila's smile widened, touched beyond measure by Berger's interpretation of where she fit into this strange situation. She hadn't realized it until that moment, but it had been a reassurance that she'd needed, especially after last night. Wrapping both arms securely around his neck, she pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the center of his chest, looked up at him from underneath her lashes, "Is it wrong of me-? Is it selfish of me that I want nothing more right now than for you to take me back to bed and help me forget all of this for a little while?"

Lips sliding into a gentle smirk, Berger cradled her close, "No, it's not selfish. And somehow, I think Claude would understand and would be the last person on this green Earth to tell you to deny yourself on his account. Don't you?"

Sheila laughed, pushed lightly at Berger's shoulder, "You're just saying that because it works to your advantage."

In spite of her expectations, however, Berger's eyes turned solemn as he shook his head, "No... I'm not. Even if we hadn't had sex in months - a year, even - if I thought we'd hurt Claude by not including him, I wouldn't do it. I'd wait. But this... I really do think he'll understand."

Sheila's breath caught in her throat, overcome, as usual, by this more serious and caring side of Berger whom she still barely knew. Placing her hands on Berger's shoulders, she gently pushed herself up so that she could wrap her legs around his waist. Bending over, she whispered her next words directly into his ear, "Then take me to bed, Sexy-Berger. It's been too long."

Sending a ferocious smile her way, Berger tightened his grip on her lean frame and did exactly that. And if he'd looked back at that moment, he'd have just caught it as Claude closed the eyelid he'd opened, a contended and satisfied smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**
> 
> Yeah... as noted. 20 page paper. I got nothing. Hope you enjoyed!


	5. The Evening Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our intrepid trio didn't get off as easily as hoped... someone _did_ see them at Rockefeller Center. But what will they do with that information?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _December 5, 2010:_** Why the hell am I doing this instead of my paper? O_O Sometimes I want to kick myself in the ass. *sigh*
> 
> Oh, FYI... this is the part with the dangling plotline. I promise it will be resolved, though... in the next fic. That should make sense after you read it. ^_^

_What do I do? What do I do? Oh... Someone, please tell me what to do!_ Crissy paced furiously outside the building that housed Jeanie's apartment. Jeanie hadn't been at the protest the other day. Poor Claude had a bit of a cold and she hadn't wanted him outside that long. Crissy had gone anyway, wanted to support Suzanne and Jackie. And it had felt good, really good, to be protesting for something that might actually make a difference for a change. It had seemed silly when they first brought it up, to protest the Rockefeller Center tree, but the more she listened to them, the more it made sense. Sure New Yorkers loved their tree, sure it was tradition... but what about the tree? To chop down such a gorgeous natural beauty and then throw it away like so much garbage when they were done with it... It wasn't right. It wasn't _humane_. In this modern world, there had to be alternatives.

They'd gone to Sheila for advice, of course, but for the first time in Crissy's memory, the older girl had been almost no help. Maybe it was taking care of Cheryl and Berger, maybe it was the stress of the upcoming holidays, maybe she was just too busy with law school, but whatever the case, she'd been distracted, had barely listened when they talked. She'd been like that a lot the last few months, the last few weeks, especially.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Crissy kicked at the side of the building. Normally, with a problem like this, she'd go straight to Jeanie. Jeanie was her rock, her support. Jeanie was the one she could always count on. Jeanie was the one who'd talked her into taking some college classes, into trying to _do_ something with her life. She was proud of Jeanie, _beyond_ proud of Jeanie, for the woman she'd turned into. No one had really expected that motherhood would change her so much, though it had. She was still the quintessential Jeanie - flighty, mystical, don't tie me down Jeanie... but there was more, now. Being Claude's mother came first and it showed.

Which brought her back around to needing to talk to Jeanie! The longer she dwelled on this, the more she realized that she couldn't handle it alone, that she needed her friend's advice. But... but she couldn't do that. She couldn't do that to her friend. She couldn't raise a hope like this, just in case she was wrong. If she was wrong... G-d, it would kill Jeanie. She'd only barely gotten over the worst of her grief and it had been almost two years already. She couldn't force that all back to the surface. It just wouldn't be fair. But she didn't know what to do!

Finally Crissy plunked herself down on the sidewalk, face buried in her knees. She was no good at this. She was no good at figuring out what to do. She was no good at being the strong one. She needed to change, needed to learn how to solve problems for herself, she knew that. It was just so hard... Her mother had held her, told her that she would find her strength in time, told her that she knew that Crissy had a powerful woman living inside her and that these things didn't develop over night. That had been reassuring, but ultimately hadn't helped. She needed to be that powerful woman _now_.

A set of quiet, shuffling footsteps on the pavement caused her to look up. When she saw who it was, she immediately launched herself off the ground and latched her arms around his waist. He smiled softly down at her, as always with that touch of melancholy hovering around the smile, and gently hugged her back. She buried her face in the fur lining of his vest and wailed out, "Woof... I don't know what to do!"

He tightened his grip around her, placed a soft kiss on her forehead, then asked quietly, "What to do about what, Crissy?"

She let out a small growl of frustration and stepped away, started pacing again. Finally, she turned back to the older man, pointed a finger at him, "You weren't at the protest, were you?" When he shook his head, she sighed, lowered her hand, then said with intense feeling, " **Damn** it."

Woof's eyes widened at the language. Sure it was mild, but even that mild cursing was generally more than Crissy engaged in. He opened his mouth, closed it again, frowned. Finally he said, "What happened at the protest?"

Crissy met his worried hazel eyes, wondering, like always, if he was refraining from saying anything in an effort to let her get out the frustration. He so often seemed to know things, things he couldn't possibly know, that it always seemed strange to her on those occasions when he was almost willfully ignorant. She stepped in closer, wrapped her arms around him again, needing the comfort. In a quiet, hesitant voice, she said, "I... I saw Claude. At the protest."

Crissy felt his indrawn breath before she heard it. His arms tightened almost convulsively around her before they relaxed. He swallowed, shook his head, "Crissy... I... I see him, too. In crowds, in the park, at the library, on the subway... I see him everywhere, all the time. That doesn't mean it's him... right?"

The sheer hesitancy in his gentle voice was painful to hear. Woof was never sure of himself, never confident. It just wasn't his way. He often felt like a kindred spirit to her because of that. Lately, though, it had been worse - she'd noticed. The news of Claude's death had rocked him severely. He'd been so sure that Claude was coming home. He'd been so sure of it that he'd even told Berger, _promised_ Berger that he was coming home... and look at what that had done. So he didn't say things like that anymore, ignored his feelings and hunches when they came along. He'd withdrawn into himself, started taking stupid risks, gotten involved with a woman that was outside of the Tribe - some little upper East-sider who was only looking to shock her parents by sleeping with a deadbeat - things he never would have done before. But the Tribe had been so wrapped up in its own grief, in its leader's grief, that the smaller griefs - Woof's, Crissy's, Jeanie's, so many others - had gotten ignored. She looked up, caught his almost frantic gaze and shook her head, "I... if you'd asked me that a year ago, six months ago... two months ago, I'd have said you were right. Now... Woof, I'm just not so sure."

He held her gaze, searching for G-d only knew what, finally nodded. He took a step back, reached down to take her hands in his and said, "Tell me."

So she did. She told him about all the little observations she'd made, spewed out the whole list that she'd been unaware she'd been collecting until that very moment. She told him about Berger's now almost ridiculous sense of punctuality, how he _needed_ to be home at a certain time, every day, how he often refused to hang out with the rest of the Tribe, vaguely claiming responsibilities elsewhere. She told him about Sheila's distraction, about how the few times that she came over for girls' night that she couldn't focus, kept watching the clock... and more recently about how she couldn't seem to meet her or Jeanie's eyes when she was even there. And finally, she told him about that day at the protest. She'd been late, had been finishing up some work at school, and had arrived after a crowd had already formed. She'd spotted Sheila and Berger amongst the onlookers, had been about to go over to tell them that the protest was happening on the other side... when the crowd had shifted. And for just a brief moment, she'd seen another man standing with them. He was tall, topped Berger by maybe an inch or two. He had brown eyes, shoulder-length, gleaming blonde hair pulled back into a low ponytail... and there was no mistaking him. It was Claude. She'd frozen, mouth agape, unable to even call out... and she'd missed her chance. They'd turned away, arms around each other, and left before she could get a single word out.

Woof stared at her, shook his head, "They'd have told us. If it was really Claude, if he was alive... they'd have told us. Berger... he would have told _me_. Wouldn't he?"

And, oh... his eyes looked so lost in that moment. Crissy freed her hands from his, raised them up to cup his face and stood up on her toes to plant a butterfly kiss on his lips, "Oh, Woof... I don't know. Claude was more important to him than anything. If Claude is really back... maybe he wants some time alone with him?"

Woof frowned, obviously not satisfied with that answer. He turned, looked up in the direction of Jeanie's windows, frowned harder, "You were going to tell Jeanie, weren't you?" At Crissy's nod, he sighed, "Don't. Not... not yet. I'll get to the bottom of this, find out if there's anything to tell. If there is... if there is, we'll tell her together, OK?"

Crissy threw her arms around him, hugged him tightly to her in her relief. She wasn't alone with this anymore and that was what mattered. And if Claude was alive... Oh, **G-d** , if Claude was alive... With that hope burgeoning in her breast, she couldn't quite contain the happy giggle. When Woof smiled down at her, she beamed right back, "Oh, Woof... I hope I wasn't hallucinating!"

Lowering his head, Woof claimed her lips, kissed her as though he needed to draw that innocent happiness into himself to bolster him for the coming confrontation. Though surprised that Woof, of all people, would take that initiative with her, Crissy gladly went along with it. She buried her hands in his thick blonde hair, kissed him back with all the joy and butterflies currently dancing around in her heart, willed that happiness to fill him, too.

When they broke apart, Woof had a different kind of smile playing about his lips. It was surprised, it was a little smug... he looked like a little boy who'd unexpectedly gotten exactly what he wanted for Christmas. That look, it made her think, made her consider possibilities that she hadn't before. Before she could say anything, however, he'd grabbed her up into a tight hug and started swinging her around. When he planted her back on her feet, he then grabbed her hand and started pulling her towards the door, "Come on! I promised Jeanie that I'd help her. She wants to try to make chicken soup for Cl-" He stopped his words and his feet so abruptly that Crissy crashed into him. His mouth worked for a minute, but no sound emerged.

Crissy sighed, patted him on the shoulder, "Yeah... not going to be so easy, is it?"

Woof didn't answer. He stood there on the stoop, stared at the door for a minute, then shook himself all over like the dog he'd been named for. Crissy couldn't help a small laugh at his antics. When he was done, he squared his shoulders, "Tomorrow. I'll get to the bottom of this tomorrow. It's only one night, then, right? We can keep it from her for one night... Can't we?"

The pair looked at each other for a moment, solemnly nodded, then sighed in unison. Then with a short laugh, Woof pushed open the door and they headed upstairs. One night? Against Jeanie's "mom stare?" G-d help them both. They'd need it.

* * *

"What do you mean you have to go in to work?" Sheila was clearly trying to keep herself calm and was just as clearly failing. Raising a hand to her head, she gritted out, "Berger, you can't. I can't skip class, today - I have a test. If you go to work..." She waved her other hand helplessly in the direction of Cheryl's room where Claude was currently trying his hand at getting the little girl dressed for the day.

Berger caught at the waving hand, tried to shush her, "I know! Sheila, I know, OK? But what do you want me to do? I called out on Saturday, our busiest day - and don't even ask me how much hell I caught for _that_ \- and this was the trade-off. I just... I was so damned worried about Claude this weekend that it didn't even fucking occur to me to double check with your schedule before I agreed." Turning away, he buried his own hands in his hair, " _Shit_."

Sheila cleared her throat, asked hesitantly, "Do... do you think he'd fire you if you called out again?"

"Jesus... Sheila, I don't know. But whether he would or not..." He turned to face her, the upset clear to read in his eyes, "Sheila, my dad's friendship with this guy got me this job. He put his reputation on the line to vouch for me. If I do this, my boss isn't the only one I let down." And she could see it, how torn he was. He'd had to call out Saturday, there'd been no choice. Spending time with Cheryl the night before had helped, but Claude was... he'd had a major setback on Friday and he'd needed Berger. Berger had known that, had seen it, so he hadn't even allowed the question to be raised. She'd awoken that morning to the sound of him on the phone, already calling his boss. And she'd been so grateful, she hadn't even questioned it. But now... damn it. There were always consequences and though Berger was getting better at thinking ahead and planning for them, every now and then one would come along and wallop him but good. Unfortunately, this had the potential to backfire for _all_ of them... and it wasn't even really his fault. He was trying so hard to do the right thing for everyone and he was doing far better than anyone could have dreamed he would... but he was still Berger.

Sheila sighed, stepped closer to touch his cheek, "No. You're right. You're right. I just... Damn." She leaned forward to rest her head against Berger's chest. This was the moment she'd been dreading. What would happen on that day when both she and Berger had to be away from home at the same time? If it was just Cheryl to consider, it wouldn't have been a problem. Berger had taken her to work before and Jeanie was always willing to watch her, but now with Claude to consider... Damn it. Now she wished more than ever that she'd bullied Berger into letting her tell someone about him. Then this wouldn't be such a crisis.

Berger whispered brokenly at her, "I... I really fucked up, didn't I?"

Sheila raised her other hand up to frame his face, leaned closer to touch their foreheads together. When she pulled back, she shook her head, "No, baby. You didn't. This... you did the right thing. We _did_ need you here on Saturday. _Claude_ needed you here. There wasn't any other choice. Just... sometimes these things happen." She touched their foreheads back together, finished off by firmly saying, "This is _not_ your fault."

Another voice interrupted the moment then, speaking three simple words, "No. It's _mine_."

Sheila and Berger turned to meet Claude's anguished eyes. Claude just shook his head, then turned away, "I knew it. I _knew_ I was going to be an imposition." Berger opened his mouth to deny it, but Claude shook his head, "I am. I know I am. If I wasn't here, you wouldn't even be having this conversation."

Berger stepped away from Sheila, put a hand on Claude's shoulder, "You don't know that. What if Cheryl were sick? What if..." He threw his hands in the air, "Gah! I don't even know. But it doesn't matter. You're more important to me than any job. Claude... you know that. You _have_ to know that."

Claude shook Berger's arm off his shoulder, turned to face him with a determined look on his face, "You can say things like that all you like, Berger, but the reality is, you can't lose your job. You _can't_. You need that money and it won't be so easy to get another job, especially not one as good as the one you have. And Sheila can't skip a test." He turned away, moved to sit down on the couch as he stared forlornly into space, "I'm in the way. I'm in the way, just like I knew I would be."

Berger and Sheila stared at each other for a minute, then each went to sit down on either side of Claude. Berger wrapped an arm around Claude's shoulders, "Claude, look at me." When Claude refused to do so, Berger shook him, " _Look_ at me." After another minute, he finally turned, finally met Berger's eyes. When he did, Berger smiled, "Better. Now, you and I are going to have this out once and for all and then I don't want to hear it come up again, OK?" At Claude's leery expression, Berger rolled his eyes, but continued, "There is a hell of a lot that I would give up in this life and never miss. My job and this apartment, just to name a couple. **You** , on the other hand, are not on that list. You are not an imposition. You are not in the way. We want you here. We knew it wouldn't be easy, that there would be bumps and snags along the way... but we don't care. We'll figure it out." Letting a shadow of his old maniacal grin cross his face, Berger waggled his eyebrows, "Hell, I always do, man. Have a little faith."

Claude watched him, searched his eyes for an endless moment, then deliberately relaxed. He nodded once, "OK. I believe you. And I trust you. But... what about today? I... Maybe you could take Cheryl to work with you and I could stay here by myself...?"

Sheila reached up a hand, brushed Claude's hair back behind his ear, "But would you really be all right alone, Claude? This weekend... it was hard on you and I'm not sure you're entirely back on your feet, yet. Are you sure you'd be OK?" Claude swallowed hard, shook his head. Sheila sighed as she ran her hand down his back, "Yeah... somehow I didn't think so."

After another moment of silence, Claude reached behind him, dipped his fingers into his back pocket and pulled out a business card. Though his face paled, he made himself say the words, "Maybe... maybe we should call Dr. Howard... ask him if I could spend the day in the hospital until one of you gets home..." It was the last thing he wanted to do, that was obvious, but he couldn't think of any other alternative.

Berger pulled him into a tight embrace, vehemently shook his head, "Oh, _hell_ no. We did not fight so hard to get you out of there just to send you back less than a month later."

Claude's eyes widened and he raised a hand between them, pushed lightly at Berger's chest until he relaxed his grip, "OK... never mind, then. Bad suggestion." From where his face was pressed firmly into Berger's chest, however, he couldn't help a relieved smile. If there had been no choice, he'd have gone and he'd have gone without a fuss, but he was happy beyond measure that Berger had refused... even if it did end up causing a problem.

Berger just continued to cradle Claude against him, mind working furiously to fix this problem that he'd inadvertently caused. Meanwhile, Cheryl had wandered over, grabbed the leg of his jeans and pulled herself up to stand. And that gave him a brilliant idea. Abruptly grabbing Claude by the shoulders and pushing him back upright, he said, "Hey... why can't _you_ come to work with me?" At the poleaxed look on Claude's face, Berger laughed, "No, seriously, man. Why can't you? You've been to the store before and you've met my boss. It's never really busy there on a Monday so there won't be too many people and if you get overwhelmed you can hide in the stockroom." At the doubtful look on Claude's face, Berger released him and bent over to pick up Cheryl, held the little girl right up in front of him, "And to be honest, if I'm gonna have this little monster with me all day, I may need you there just to help keep her occupied!" As though to prove that point, Cheryl decided she'd have enough of her father's insanity and twisted herself half upside down in an effort to get out of his hold. Fortunately Berger was used to those kinds of antics and just moved with her until he could get her safely back down onto the ground, "So, what do you say? 'Bring your family to work day' sound like a good idea to you?"

Claude stared at him for a while, trying to puzzle it out from every angle. The idea _seemed_ sound... then again, it was a spur of the moment Berger idea. Those kinds of ideas had always been notorious for getting him into trouble. But, he couldn't really see a flaw to this one... and Sheila wasn't objecting. Turning to double-check, though, he did notice her wearing a very interesting facial expression. On anyone but Sheila, he'd have called it a "pout." But Sheila didn't pout. It wasn't her style. When she caught him looking, she blushed a little and ducked her head, "I'm actually a little jealous. I'd rather go hang out with you guys at the music store than take a test any day."

With that final blessing, Claude let the last of the tension seep away and nodded. Berger clapped him on the shoulder, all but bouncing in his place on the couch, "Oh, man... it's gonna be great! We'll order pizza for lunch. We'll turn off the overhead lights and flip on all the blacklights and blast Grateful Dead music. We'll break out the good incense and pretend we're getting high!"

Bouncing up off the couch, Berger spread his hands wide and started dancing around the room. Cheryl immediately started giggling and chasing after him as fast as she could crawl. Catching her at it, Berger immediately reversed course to chase after her and she squealed happily and turned to crawl away. He let her escape for a good twenty seconds before scooping her up and blowing raspberries on her tummy. She just giggled louder. Berger then plopped them both back on the couch and flopped over to rest his head in Claude's lap, Cheryl cradled close against his chest. He stared up at Claude and Sheila with such a buzzed and blissed out expression on his face that all Claude could do in response was ask, "Seriously, man... what the hell are you on and can I have some?"

Sheila laughed, reached out a hand to tweak Berger's nose, "That goes double for me, Banana-Berger. Wanna share?"

Berger just smirked, reached an arm up to caress first Sheila's, then Claude's face, "There's always plenty of me to go around, my loves." Waggling his eyebrows and allowing his expression to assume a smirk of epic proportions, he asked, "So, who's first?"

Sheila just smiled, indicated with her eyes that she was OK with waiting. Berger turned to face Claude at the same time shifting his body to shelter Cheryl between himself and the back of the couch. Leaning up, he brought his hand back to Claude's face, lifted an eyebrow. They sat there like that, neither moving, neither hardly even breathing. It would have been easy to close that distance, far easier than sitting and waiting, but Berger was determined. The last thing he wanted to do was make Claude feel pressured to take a step he wasn't ready for. Except for an occasional overly affectionate kiss on the cheek or the forehead, he hadn't asked for any more from Claude since that first night he'd been home. He wasn't sure Claude was ready for more, wasn't sure the advance would be welcome. And he wanted it to be Claude's choice, didn't want him to feel pressured in any way. He had enough to worry about without worrying about that.

Claude smiled at him, a soft, gentle smile - Berger felt the warmth of it all the way down to his toes - and leaned in. For just a moment, Berger thought that he was going to go for it and nearly parted his lips in eager anticipation, but at the last minute, he shifted, pressed his forehead to Berger's, instead, in a gesture that had almost come to replace their usual kisses. So, when Berger just waggled his eyebrows again in return, Claude huffed out a small laugh and leaned back, "You're insane, do you know that?" At Berger's wide grin, Claude's lips stretched into a wider, more solid smile of his own, "And coming from me that's saying a lot, Banana-Berger."

Berger shrugged in response, leaned back in to press a kiss to Claude's forehead, "All part of my charm, eh, Claudio?" When he leaned back, he moved his hand to tweak the other man's nose, "It's why you love me."

"That's presuming an awful lot, don't you think?" But the banked heat in Claude's eyes gave lie to that teasing answer. Finally Claude sighed, leaned in himself and touched their foreheads back together, "No... No, I guess it isn't." Reaching out a hand to his right, Claude pulled Sheila in to rest against them as well, "What did I ever do to deserve you two?"

Sheila reached her hands up and wrapped one around the backs of each of their necks, giving them both a brief squeeze, "I ask myself that same question every day, Claude." When the two men turned to look at her with eyebrows lifted, she smiled, "Whatever it was... it must have been something damned good."

The tableau held for all of thirty seconds before Berger snorted out a laugh. At the sour look Sheila turned his way, he just laughed harder. Finally, he managed to sober enough to get out, "That's not what you used to say!"

Caught up in Berger's infectious mirth, Claude pressed a hand over his mouth in an effort to not join in. With the expression currently sitting on Sheila's face, however, it was a battle he was destined to lose. Right before he, too, started to chuckle, he offered Sheila a half shrug, "Well... he's got a point there, Sheila."

Remembering all too easily the numerous occasions that had had her rolling her eyes heavenward and demanding to know which god she'd pissed off that day to get stuck with the two of them, Sheila could only sigh, "Yeah... for a change, he really does." Then the corner of her lips twitched and it wasn't long before they were all leaning against each other and trying not to laugh like fools.

Thirty minutes later, as Sheila was bundling Cheryl up and tucking her into the stroller, she repeated to herself that they would be fine. They were only going to the music store. Claude had been there before and it would be fine. Really. They would be just fine. Shaking her head ruefully, she let out a small sigh. It was times like these that she most understood Claude's new tendency to start repeating things when stressed.

Finally, she straightened, walked over to her two men and started fussing at their coats, too. Berger just rolled his eyes and let her do it. When she got to Claude, however, he took her hands in his and raised them to his lips to give her a soft kiss on each set of knuckles. Meeting her eyes dead on, he said simply, "Sheila."

She took in a deep breath and shook her head, "Right, right. I know. You're not a child, you're all going to be fine and we'll be laughing about this by tonight." Looking over at Berger, she offered him a stressed out smile, "Is it wrong that I still wish I was going with you?"

Berger leaned over, pressed a kiss into the side of her neck, "No, it isn't. But you still don't get to go." When he straightened up, he offered her a lopsided grin, "Never thought I'd see the day when Sheila Franklin would want to play hooky from school, though - and on a test day, no less!"

And there was another of those strange moments that left Sheila just a little in awe of the man she'd made a child with. He was just as worried as she was, maybe even more so, but he'd put a brave and joking face on over it anyway. Making a deliberate decision to let that mask be the truth for her, she raised a hand and smacked him lightly over the head. At his wide, answering grin, she laughed. Giving all three of them a brief hug, she then grabbed her books and left the apartment before she had a chance to convince herself to do otherwise. They would be fine without her. Berger would make sure of that. And the fact that she could think that and mean it filled her with more giddy joy than she'd thought possible, and that was a gift, indeed.

* * *

"You ready, Claudio?"

Claude sighed. Was he ready? No. He wasn't ready, not by a long shot, but he didn't have much choice. Let's face it - he didn't have _any_ choice. Damned if he was going to say that to Berger, though. Instead, he just tucked his neck further into the collar of his coat and offered the other man a noncommittal shrug.

Berger sighed in response, "Yeah, that's what I thought. You're gonna do this anyway, though, no matter what I say about it... aren't you?" When all Claude offered him was another shrug, he shook his head, "Well, glad we've got that cleared up." With a soft snort, he pushed Cheryl's stroller out of the doorway and started heading up the street, trusting that Claude would follow.

...As though that was even a question. Claude would have followed Berger to the ends of the Earth and back even before the war. Hunching himself further down into his coat, Claude warily left the safety of the building's main doorway and hurried to catch up to the other man. He was getting better at this, leaving the one place he thought of as "safe," anymore, but that still didn't mean he was comfortable with it. From the moment he left that doorway, he felt as though his eyes, his ears, sometimes his whole head, were on a constant swivel, always looking for danger. These streets, they were too open, too exposed. There were too many ways an enemy could come at you, too many places a sniper could hide, too few options for cover. For himself, he honestly couldn't care, but for the people he walked beside? For two of the only three people on Earth that he loved? For them, he cared. For them, it mattered. For them... for them he would keep his senses on that constant high alert to make damned sure that danger never even had a chance to touch them. Danger wouldn't even know what hit it if it tried.

After about a block of Claude anxiously darting his gaze around and jumping at every little sound, Berger unobtrusively took one hand off the stroller and slid it down to touch his, just a brush of fingers, nothing more. Like so much about him, it offered, but didn't demand. Claude gave one final twitch, had one massive internal struggle and finally turned his hand and latched onto Berger's like a lifeline. After all, he wasn't kidding himself - that was exactly what it was. Berger just smiled and raised Claude's hand to his lips, pressed a gentle kiss to the knuckles. And in spite of his anxiety over the situation, Claude couldn't help but smile in response.

It was so easy to forget... all those years ago, it had always been Berger looking out for him, not the other way around, no matter what he'd thought at the time. It was Berger who led, Claude who followed. It was Berger that provided for the Tribe, Berger who guided them. It was so easy to forget that, how he'd always looked to Berger for guidance, even when he'd pretended disdain for the other boy's attitude. Berger had always been so much larger than life. Deep in his heart, Claude had truly believed that there wasn't a thing on this green Earth that Berger couldn't handle. He almost wished he had a little of that belief back. Ironically, though, it seemed as if all of his belief had ended up on permanent loan to Sheila. And it was good for them, for Sheila and Berger, and especially for Cheryl, but Claude missed that belief. Life had been easier with it.

"Claudio, we're here. I need my hand back to open the door," Berger's voice lightly insinuated itself into Claude's musings as he tugged at their joined hands. Claude shook himself, released his grip on Berger's hand and replaced his hand back into his pocket. With the loss of that contact, the anxiety returned. They were too exposed out here with their backs to the street. Berger would be hampered in any movement by the stroller. The entryway into the store didn't provide enough cover.

Berger reached out, gently tapped his finger against Claude's forehead. Claude jerked at the touch but refocused on the younger man quickly enough. Berger just smiled, "Lost you there for a second, didn't I?" When no response was forthcoming, Berger sighed, "Yeah. I know. Let's just get you inside, OK?" With that, he pushed open the door and easily guided the stroller over the doorstop. Claude followed him in, close on his heels.

Once they were inside, the door to the shop closed safely behind them, the tense muscles in Claude's back began to relax. This might not be perfect, but at least there was more cover, fewer entrances and it was more defensible. The huge plate glass windows covering the front of the store weren't ideal for defense, but at least they provided a good view of what might be coming from the street. Claude barely noticed as Berger grabbed the back of his coat collar and gently tugged. He just unbuttoned the coat and let Berger pull it from his shoulders as he began to prowl the store, checking every entrance, every window, every nook and cranny, memorizing the layout in case he needed the information. And through the whole process Berger was silent, just stood by and let him do what he needed to feel safe.

When Claude was finally satisfied with his explorations and returned to the register, Berger met him with a squirming armful of eight month old. Beaming a brilliant grin at him, he plopped Cheryl into his arms and said, "She's all yours. Have fun and try not to break anything."

* * *

Two hours later, Claude was so busy chasing after Cheryl that he'd nearly managed to forget how nervous he'd been when he first got to the store. Berger could only be grateful for that. Bringing Claude with him today had been a greater risk and worry than he'd let on to either he or Sheila that morning. There was so much potential for something to go wrong and Berger was deeply afraid that if something did, he wouldn't be enough to handle it, no matter what Sheila thought.

And as though those very thoughts had summoned trouble, Claude's voice yelled out from the opposite corner of the store, "Berger! Come quickly! Hurry!"

There was such urgency in that voice that Berger jumped, nearly spilled his coffee on himself. Cursing quietly but intensely, he all but dropped the mug on the counter and raced to where he'd heard Claude's voice. What the hell could possibly have gone wrong? He'd only taken his eyes off the pair of them for a minute! When he reached the other side of the store, Claude reached out to grab at his shoulders and hold him still. Berger immediately turned and latched onto Claude's arms, eyes doing a quick scan and noting nothing immediately out of place. What... what the hell? Claude wouldn't even look at him. Voice layered in three different kinds of worry, he pressed, "Claudio...?"

Claude merely shushed him, a very odd, distracted sort of smile on his face as he continued to watch whatever it was his gaze was fixed on. Claude held up a finger for quiet, then slowly turned him to face the same direction. Cheryl was standing about five feet away, grinning wider than he'd ever seen her grin before. She was standing... Oh G-d. She was standing _completely unsupported_. Swallowing hard against a suddenly dry mouth, he croaked out, "How... how long?"

Claude squeezed his shoulder, let out a soft huff of a laugh, "About thirty seconds, now." And that seemed to be the cue for Cheryl to plop herself back down onto the ground, give a happy little burble and immediately start crawling away. Claude let go of Berger long enough to chase her down, scoop her up and plant a smacking kiss on her neck. She giggled and immediately tried to stick her hand in his mouth. He gave her fingers an obligatory nibble and then carried her back over to Berger. Smiling sheepishly at the younger man, he said, "I'm sorry if I worried you, but I didn't want you to miss it."

Berger stared at him for a minute, stared at that image of a smiling, happy Claude... a smiling, happy Claude holding his child - holding _their_ child - and had to swallow a sudden lump of tears. It was moments like this that truly gave him hope, that made him think that there was a chance for them, after all. Things could get better. Claude could get better. They could be a family... a real family. Stepping closer, Berger wrapped one arm around Claude's shoulders and with the other, gently cupped Cheryl's head and gave her a kiss of his own, "No problem, Claudio. Just remind me to return the favor next time _you're_ holding a cup of hot coffee." At Claude's immediately contrite look, Berger laughed and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, "Ease up, man. It was worth it. It was totally worth it." When he leaned back, he had a smile fit to match Cheryl's resting broadly on his face, "You do realize what this means, though?"

Claude blinked innocently at him, shook his head, "No. What?"

Berger groaned melodramatically and let his head drop down to rest against Claude's shoulder, "If she's getting this good at balancing, she'll probably be walking within a month, two months, tops."

Claude's body went still and tight beneath his cheek for a moment, then slumped. He let out a soft moan as he dropped his own head to rest against Berger's, then said quietly and with fervor, "Well... shit. I hadn't thought of that."

Berger snorted out a laugh as he lifted his head, "Yeah, my sentiments exactly, Claudio. My sentiments exactly."

* * *

Though the rest of the day passed in relative ease and comfort for the two men in the store, the same could not be said for the one who was watching them from outside. He was careful and canny, just enough to avoid being caught. He'd gone by Berger and Sheila's apartment earlier to find it empty on a day when it shouldn't have been. At first, he'd thought that Berger might have taken Cheryl to the park or down to watch the ferries or any of a number of other places that they usually visited on Berger's days off, but in spite of walking the city until his feet ached, he didn't find them. He'd somehow known that he wouldn't.

Finally giving in to the knowledge beating an anxious pulse at him from under his breastbone, he turned and headed back to the Village to go to the music store. Berger would be there. He knew it, had been fighting that knowledge all morning. It was that same inner prompting that had so often told him things in the past - like the fact that the dark-haired boy with the green eyes so responsibly buying hot dogs for his sister would change his life for the better, like the fact that he had to bring that boy to the shore two years later to find the person who could support him the way he needed... the way Woof couldn't. Like the fact that a frightened boy on the subway, sporting a brilliant English accent and not a penny to his name, was essential to the survival of the Tribe. He'd just known. But he hadn't trusted that inner prompting in almost four years now, ever since it had lied to him about Claude coming home. It was hard to trust it again, now. It was hard, but he couldn't ignore it, not with the way it was hounding him. So, after nearly four hours of searching the city, he finally caved in and went where it wanted him to go.

And that was how he found himself hovering outside the store, peering in the windows like some abandoned pup... and feeling far more like one than he had in a long time. Berger was there all right. So was Cheryl. And there was a man with them who they seemed awfully comfortable with. And Crissy had been right - if that man wasn't Claude Hooper Bukowski, then he looked enough like him to be his long-lost twin. But even from his spot outside and undetected, Woof could tell that something was off. There was something in the way the man moved, in the way his eyes never stopped scanning the store, in the way he would periodically tense when he caught the movement of Woof's passing by the window. This man was dangerous in a way that Claude had never been - Woof could see it. It made him hesitant to open that door, hesitant to go inside and ask Berger why he would keep something this important from the rest of the Tribe... and it gave him an insight into why the younger man would have done it.

So rather than making his presence known, rather than finding a way to get confirmation for what his heart demanded must be true, Woof just stayed outside, forlornly watching the happy couple inside the store, wishing he could go in and join them, and desperately trying to figure out both how he and Crissy could break this news to Jeanie... and whether or not they even should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**
> 
>  
> 
> ...yeah. Still nothing. I suck at author's notes this week. Damned paper. :'( Although as a side note... I really hate it when MS Works' spellchecker likes a word just fine... and 's spellchecker throws a hissy cow at the same exact word. O_o;;;


	6. Exorcism and Protection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheila normally goes to visit her parents for Thanksgiving dinner, but since none of our trio are too keen on that idea this year. she decides to invite everyone over to her apartment instead. Now the only problem will be convincing Claude to stop hiding in the bedroom long enough to meet them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _December 8, 2010:_** Paper's done (sort of - don't ask, long story :-P), and I managed to slice my finger open on a plastic container. *sweatdrop* Some reward for getting my work done. Needless to say, typing's been a little difficult. *sigh* See? See how much I love you guys? ^_~

Berger poked his head out of Cheryl's bedroom at the suddenly raised voice in the living room. It wasn't like Sheila to start yelling like that, especially when she knew they were trying to put Cheryl down for a nap. Claude stepped up next to him, holding a now-fussing Cheryl up against him, thumb tucked firmly in her mouth as she furiously twirled the hair beside her ear. Jerking his head in Sheila's direction, he asked Berger, "What's going on?"

Wincing as Sheila let out a particularly loud explicative, Berger shook his head, "I don't know, man. I don't even know who she's on the phone with - hell, I didn't even hear it ring." Eventually, he shooed Claude and Cheryl back into the room, "Look, just try to get her down and I'll go tell Sheila to keep it a little quieter."

Though he didn't look entirely thrilled with it, Claude nonetheless did as asked. He usually had the best luck getting Cheryl to nap when she was in this kind of a mood, anyway. Meanwhile, Berger headed out into the kitchen just in time to see Sheila slam the phone down on the cradle with a frustrated half-scream. Seeing Berger edging closer to her like he was certain he'd done something to earn the ire she'd been spewing forth put her in check like nothing else would have and she took in a deep calming breath. By the time he reached her, she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head against his shoulder, "Sorry, baby. I... That was kind of uncalled for. I just didn't expect that to erupt into such a... damn it, I don't even know _what_ that was."

Understanding that he hadn't, in fact, been the cause of the upset allowed Berger to relax and he gently reciprocated Sheila's embrace. She made a noise of frustration and picked her head up to look him in the eyes, "I just don't think it's a good idea right now. I mean... I'm right, aren't I?"

"Uh... You're going to have to give me more to go on than that if you want a helpful answer, Sheila," was Berger's dry response.

Seeing the look in Berger's eyes, that look that clearly said he thought he was about to step into a verbal minefield, Sheila snorted out a laugh, laid her head back down on his shoulder, "I was talking to my mother. I thought I would call her, tell her that I didn't think we'd be making it to Thanksgiving dinner. Berger... she was _not_ happy. She actually started crying when she told me how much she'd been looking forward to celebrating her first grandchild's first Thanksgiving." Leaning back, she met Berger's eyes with a pained look, "I didn't know whether to applaud her performance or start crying myself. I just..." She looked over Berger's shoulder and jerked her head in the direction of Cheryl's room, then shrugged.

She didn't need to explain any further than that, unfortunately. Berger knew exactly what she meant. Claude would _not_ be up for a Franklin family Thanksgiving, not by a long shot. He pulled Sheila closer, placed a reassuring kiss on her forehead, "Yeah... I can see why that conversation got a little out of control. For what it's worth, though, I agree. I don't think he'd be up for that." Shaking his head with a soft laugh, he said, "Hell, Sheila. Forget Claude... I don't think _I'd_ be up for that. I mean... your parents are nice people and all, but... fuck. The rest of your family is **nuts**. And there are so _many_ of them..."

Sheila laughed, finally pulled away. She ran her hands through her hair, gave Berger a sheepish grin, "I'd argue, but... you know something, Banana-Berger? You're right. There are a lot of them and they are all nuts. Why the hell my parents feel the need to invite them all every year is beyond me." Turning away from Berger, she started to pace, "Damn it."

Berger leaned against the kitchen counter, tapped a finger against his chin in thought. To say that he wasn't eager to go to the Franklins' for Thanksgiving was a massive understatement. They'd gone last year while Sheila was pregnant - he'd have done just about anything for her at that point - and he'd been dreading going back ever since, but he'd been loathe to broach the subject.

Thanksgiving in the Berger household had always been so laid back. There was no getting yourself done up in your Sunday best and having ten sets of silverware at each plate. For that matter, there was no "good china," just the regular dinner plates. There were no stiffly proper conversations held over cigars and brandy in the study while the women twittered in the kitchen. It was just he, his parents and his sister, maybe an extended family member or a few friends, all piled into the kitchen "helping" prepare the food, or sprawled out in the living room arguing over who got to pick the match color for lighting the first fire of the year. It was a little silly, but he'd actually fantasized more than once about bringing Claude, Sheila and Cheryl to his parents' for Thanksgiving. They'd have so much fun and he had a feeling that his family would know not to intrude or push too hard in places where Claude couldn't handle it. It would be quiet, full of love and happiness. Claude had probably never had a Thanksgiving like that. Hell, Sheila probably hadn't, either.

The answer came to him in a moment of pure brilliance. Jesus, the answer was so fucking obvious... how had he not thought of it earlier? A broad grin spreading on his face, Berger caught Sheila's elbow as she paced by and pulled her up against him, again. At her curious look, his smile widened, "Sheila... Why don't we have Thanksgiving here?" Her mouth dropped open and he laughed, lifted her up and squeezed her tight. Looking up into her bright blue eyes, he explained, "Us, your parents and your brother and sister, my parents and my sister. No one else. And when we get tired of them, we can kick them all out. What do you say?"

Sheila stared down at him for a minute then shifted her legs to wrap them around his waist. Her mouth slowly stretched into a smile fit to match his, "You know... I can't think of a really good reason why that's a bad idea. I mean, it'll be a lot of work, and I've never cooked a turkey before, but I think you're right. That's the best solution."

Berger leaned up to kiss her, eyes dancing, "I've got another good idea." After Sheila laughingly bent her head to claim another kiss, he smirked up at her and said, "We'll ask your parents and my parents if they'd be willing to help out by bringing side dishes and desserts and stuff. That way, the turkey is the only thing we have to worry about."

Sheila laughed as she stretched her legs down to stand on her own. Once she was back on the floor, she poked at Berger's shoulder, "You just want to make sure your mom brings that one dessert that you're always trying to get me to learn how to make for you."

Before she could get too far away, Berger reeled her back in and kissed her nose. Eyes twinkling he said, "Clearly you've never had 'Death by Chocolate,' before. If you had, you'd understand what a travesty it was to go through last Thanksgiving without it."

Sheila nearly jumped at the second set of arms that wrapped around her from behind, but relaxed when Claude's smooth voice accompanied the embrace, "You know... it seems to me that I've heard about this dessert before. In fact, Banana-Berger, I think you once described it as 'almost as good as sex.' Or am I remembering that incorrectly?"

Berger snickered softly, leaned around Sheila to touch foreheads with Claude, "Nope. That would be the one. Really, man, you haven't lived until you've had this stuff. There's chocolate pudding and Nestle crunch and chocolate cake, _brownies_ , whipped cream..." His voice trailed off and he licked his lips.

Sheila laughed as she leaned back against Claude, "Watch it, baby. I think you're starting to drool. Do I need to get one of Cheryl's bibs for you?"

"Oh, I'll give you drooling!" was his response as he reached out to start tickling her sides. And at that moment, Sheila finally remembered why it was a _very_ bad idea to let herself get trapped between Claude and Berger.

Smirking widely when she tried to break away, Claude clamped his arms tightly around her and rather than lifting her off the floor, pressed her down into it so she couldn't kick to get away. And Berger just kept at it, easily finding and exploiting every single ticklish spot he knew she had. After two minutes of futilely trying to fend off Berger and get out of Claude's hold - all without making any noises loud enough to wake a sleeping Cheryl - she finally got out between giggles, "Mercy! Mercy! I give! Guys, _enough_!"

Claude dropped her like a hot coal. Sheila turned to face him just in time to see him wipe away whatever expression had been on his face. She turned back to Berger. He just sighed and shook his head. Seeing that neither man had any intention of being more forthcoming with her than that, she let it go. Instead, she turned back to Claude and decided to just divert the situation before Claude could tie himself up over whatever he thought had happened, "So... I don't know how much of the conversation you heard, but Berger and I were talking about Thanksgiving."

Face taking on a closed look, Claude wrapped his arms around himself, "Sheila, you always go to your parents' for Thanksgiving... don't you?"

Stepping closer, Sheila rested a hand on one of Claude's tense arms, "I do, but that's what we were talking about. Berger made a very eloquent plea last year that we never, ever do that again." Berger spluttered from behind her, "I never did! I was on my best behavior and I didn't say a word!"

Sheila stepped back so that she could watch both of their responses to what she was about to say, and raised an eyebrow, "Berger... when we came home, you were drunk. I guess you figured that was safer than getting high, but it still wasn't any more fun from my end."

Berger's eyes widened in horror, "I... I actually don't remember doing that."

Sheila rolled her eyes, "No, I suppose you wouldn't. Then again, if I wanted to be fair, I'd tell you that my cousin got you started sometime during the appetizers. She saw how stressed you looked and... well, she decided to help you out." At Berger's increasingly confused expression, she elaborated, "She spiked your punch."

Claude started snickering behind her and Berger's mouth dropped open. Allowing herself to see the humor of it, Sheila also started to laugh, "Yeah... Donna usually is good for that kind of thing. You'll be happy to know that you have just as good control over your tongue drunk as you do high... or sober." At Berger's hopeful look, she laughed harder, "Which is to say... none whatsoever!"

Berger slumped, "Oh, man..." Face taking on a truly remorseful expression and a pink hue, he said in a quiet voice, "And they still wanted us to come back this year?" When Sheila shrugged, he sighed, "Great. Just great." Throwing his hands up in the air, he said ruefully, "Can't take me anywhere, I guess, huh?"

Claude cleared his throat, brought them back to the question at hand, "So... wait. Are we going to your parents' then?"

Sheila shook her head, "That's what Berger and I were just discussing. Honestly, neither of us is too keen on the idea of going to my parents' for Thanksgiving." Seeing the cautiously relieved look on Claude's face, her expression softened into a smile, "Claude, I know you've never been, but trust me... it's not exactly my idea of a good time. So, you can forget about bleating about you being in the way again. This isn't an imposition, it's a welcome excuse... _We_ don't want to go, either."

Letting out a relieved breath, Claude relaxed from his tense posture, "But... won't you miss celebrating Thanksgiving with your family?"

Berger moved to stand next to Claude and wrapped a gentle hand around the back of his neck, "We thought we'd invite my parents and Sheila's parents here for Thanksgiving. That way they can all be here for Cheryl's first one and we don't have to subject ourselves to all that ridiculousness. Not to mention, it'll make it easier for us with Cheryl - we won't have to lug all her stuff with us." Gently massaging Claude's neck, he asked, "So, what do you think? Think you can handle an apartment invasion for one day?"

Though he didn't look entirely thrilled by the idea, Claude did nod, "Yeah... I guess I could handle that, Banana-Berger." Face filling with a self-deprecating smile, he added, "And I suppose I can always hide in Cheryl's room if I get overwhelmed."

Berger laughed and released his neck to clap him on the shoulder, "That's the spirit, man! And I like how you think. If things get to be too much, we can _both_ hide in Cheryl's room."

Sheila put her hands on her hips, "Berger, you are not going to run off with Claude to cuddle and leave me to deal with both families on my own. If things get bad enough that you both feel the need to run away, we'll just kick them all out so none of us has to hide in Cheryl's room. Agreed?" At the terrifyingly maternal look on her face, both men quickly nodded in agreement. Sheila then gave them both a brilliant smile, "Excellent. Now why don't you two go take a walk or something while I call my mother back. I don't think either of you needs to be witness to this."

Taking that suggestion for the gift that it was, Claude and Berger grabbed their coats and fled the apartment without even a backward glance. Sheila just rolled her eyes as the door slammed shut, "Men."

* * *

Berger pushed open the door to the bedroom, poked his head inside, "Claudio? You about ready? People are going to start showing up any minute now." Seeing Claude sitting still and silent on the bed, staring into space, Berger sighed. Taking a step closer, he offered, "You know, you don't have to do this. You can hide out in here or we can call the whole thing off..."

At that, Claude finally lifted his head and turned to face Berger. He looked tired, that Berger could easily see. He looked tired, worn out... stretched a little too thin. He'd been trying so hard these last couple of weeks, like he was fighting to meet some self-imposed deadline. Last night he'd even insisted on trying to sleep in the bed with them. Berger had tried to tell him that he didn't have to, especially not the night before Thanksgiving, but Claude wouldn't listen. For whatever reason, he'd needed to be close to both of them last night, needed them within easy reach, and he'd refused to make Sheila sleep on the floor, even though she'd been the one to offer. And in spite of his insistence that he was fine, Berger laid awake feeling him tremble through half the night. Finally around one in the morning, Claude had given up, fled the bed to sit in the corner of the room, wrapped up in his fatigue jacket. It was the first time he'd done that since the first night he'd been home.

After another twenty minutes he'd gotten up from the corner, started pacing the room, muttering under this breath. Berger had wanted to go to him, try to talk to him, but he'd gotten this feeling that his intrusion wouldn't be welcome. Claude needed to fight this out with himself and nothing Berger could say could fix it for him. Eventually Claude had left the bedroom, wandered out into the living room. At that point, Berger got up and followed, keeping back far enough that he wouldn't intrude, but needing to know that Claude was all right.

What Claude had done was go to the kitchen and take the phone off the hook. Closing his eyes, he'd dialed a phone number. Berger could almost count the rings by watching Claude's every flinch: one ring, two rings, three rings... At that third ring, Claude shuddered once and all but slammed the phone back into the cradle. He'd then started pacing the living room, hands buried in his hair and tugging hard. Ten steps, turn. Ten steps, turn. Eventually, he'd stopped, abruptly turned back towards the kitchen and marched back over to the phone. Lifting it off the cradle, he'd pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket, slowly dialed the number that was written on it. And if Berger was any judge, it cost him dearly to dial each one of those numbers.

And again... one ring, two rings, three rings, four rings... and this time when Claude jerked, it was clearly because someone answered. But no matter the case, Claude couldn't seem to make himself say anything once they did. After a minute or two, he finally managed to croak out, "Yes. It's... yes." With that accomplished, he seemed to relax. Berger would really have liked to know who he was talking to at nearly two in the morning, _really_ would have liked to know why Claude wanted to talk to this person and not to him, but he still couldn't bring himself to intrude.

He watched for a few more minutes, listened to Claude's minimal responses, tried to figure out who it might be. No such luck. Sighing, he'd rubbed his eyes and turned back to the bedroom. Claude would tell him when he was ready and he would come back to bed or not as he chose. Berger had to start letting it be his decision, couldn't keep leading him in the direction that Berger wanted him to go. That wouldn't help anyone in the long run. Claude needed to stand on his own two feet again and he'd never do that if Berger kept letting him lean so heavily on him for support. Not that he wouldn't be there - he couldn't _not_ be there - but he had to start letting Claude take a little more responsibility for his own recovery. It was more than time.

Just as Berger was about to give up waiting for Claude and allow himself to drop off to sleep, he felt the bed dip beside him. A few moments later gentle fingers reached out and lightly touched his face, his neck, his lips. They lingered there for a moment and it took everything Berger had in him not to open his mouth and suck them in. Whatever Claude needed from this contact, it wasn't that, he was sure, so he fought down that instinctive flair of desire. Eventually those fingers left his lips, wandered down towards the planes of his chest. And really... that just wasn't fair. Berger beat down his desire yet again and forced himself to remain still. Those fingers lightly traced their way down his breastbone, circled the left side of his chest, then settled along with the rest of the hand right over Berger's heart, stayed there for a minute, maybe two. Berger could almost hear Claude silently counting the beats beside him. Once he seemed satisfied that Berger wasn't going to move no matter what he did, he removed his hand, laid down next to him and rested his ear against the spot his hand had just vacated. He drew in a deep breath and gave one almost convulsive shudder. Berger could feel it as he commanded each muscle in his body, one by one, to relax. It took time, but once he managed it, something miraculous happened... Claude fell asleep.

Hesitant to do anything that might disturb him, Berger had lain there the rest of the night, wide awake and unmoving, not even daring to let his arm close around the other man the way he so desperately wanted to. He didn't want to make Claude feel trapped or confined in any way. Not now, not tonight. There would be time for that... so much time.

But having several hours of sleep in a real bed for the first time in years, rather than refreshing Claude, seemed to have taken a severe toll on him. His eyes were dull, exhausted and he looked like he didn't have anything left. Hell, he was too exhausted to even _tell_ Berger how exhausted he was. Berger recognized that look, when the other man wanted to say something but access to the words he needed was hovering just out of reach. He looked like that now. Berger moved into the room, sat beside Claude on the bed. Claude immediately scooted closer, tucked his head into the crook of Berger's neck. Berger wrapped both arms around him, placed a soft kiss against his brow and started gently rocking him, "Claudio, I keep trying to tell you that you don't have to try so hard. You really don't. No one expects you to get better over night. It'll happen in time. You just need to _give_ it that time. OK?"

Claude nodded miserably against his shoulder, let out a heavy breath and pressed his face closer against Berger's neck. Berger just held him, slowly rocking him and hoping that whatever mood was riding him would lift before their company got there. If not, they were in for a rough day. After another few minutes, Berger pressed another gentle kiss to Claude's forehead and pushed him upright, "OK, Claudio. Why don't you go splash some water on your face and I'll go steal a cup of coffee for you from the kitchen. Maybe that'll help you wake up a little, hmm?" Rather than answer verbally, Claude just nodded, slowly stood up and shuffled off towards the bathroom.

By the time Berger got back into the kitchen, Sheila was already there with a steaming cup of coffee waiting. She sighed, "I overheard. And since I'm pretty sure you slept even less than he did last night, there's a mug for you waiting on the counter."

Pausing only long enough to give her a quick kiss on the cheek, Berger let Sheila deliver that cup of coffee and made a beeline straight for his own. Staying up all night never used to take it out of him like this before. Damn. Finding his coffee exactly where Sheila had said it would be, he took a good long sniff of it, then brought it to his lips and drank down half of the cup as quickly as the temperature would allow. Before he could chug down any more of it, however, there was a knock at the door. Letting out a small groan, he reluctantly put the coffee down on the counter and briskly clapped his hands against his face, "Well... I guess it's showtime."

* * *

Thanksgiving wasn't boring this year, that was for certain. Berger's parents and sister had been the first to arrive and he could only be grateful for that small blessing. Claude had managed to emerge from hiding long enough to greet them and exchange handshakes before fleeing for the safety of the bedroom, again. Berger had gotten a few curious glances for that one, but he'd just shaken his head, pushing off the questions for later. Fortunately, shortly after that, Cheryl had awoken from her nap and shrilly demanded to be freed from her crib. That had all three of his family members making a beeline for the bedroom, each eager to be the first relative she saw on her first Thanksgiving.

Berger wandered over to Sheila and wrapped an arm around her waist, pressed a kiss into the side of her neck. With a laugh, she turned to face him, eyes twinkling, "You'd think they'd never met her before, wouldn't you?"

Chuckling softly in response, Berger offered her a small shrug, "What can I say? They're head over heels for babies in general, and if I do say so myself, ours is a particularly adorable one. Can you blame them?"

Sheila pushed lightly at his shoulder, then immediately tensed at the next knock on the door, "Oh G-d. They're here."

Pulling her into a tight embrace, Berger let out a small groan, "We could just not answer the door, you know. Hush up my parents, turn out all the lights, pretend we're not home... what do you say?" Sighing softly, Sheila shook her head, "As tempted as I am, I'd never hear the end of it. Besides... my parents have the sweet potatoes and the pumpkin bread." She then gave his nose a light tweak and moved to open the door. And Sheila could almost feel the day falling apart the minute that she pulled it open. In spite of her request that today be casual, her parents had dressed themselves in their holiday best, like always. Her older brother, Roger, and his wife, Barbara, had followed their lead enough to dress a step above their regular clothes, but had listened to her enough to not be obviously overdressed.

As for Sheila's little sister... before she even had a chance to register what the girl was wearing, she'd launched herself at Sheila with a happy squeal and tried to hug the life out of her. Before Sheila could even ask what that was about, she heard the steady murmur of words that Patty was babbling into her ear and it went like this: ",Sheila,you',andIreallymeanitthistime,  
thankyouthankyouthankyou,sogladIdon',thankyouthankyouthankyou!"

When Sheila was finally able to make sense of that babbling, she burst out laughing and squeezed her sister back as tightly as she was being squeezed. Planting a kiss on the girl's cheek, she then said, "It was my pleasure, Patty. My pleasure." She then pushed the other blonde back out to arms length to get a better look at her. She was wearing a pair of bell-bottomed brown corduroy pants and a brightly colored polyester button-down shirt in a very busy turquoise, orange, tan and brown pattern that should have looked garish, but somehow didn't, and a pair of platform shoes. Honestly, they made Sheila's feet hurt just looking at them.

Catching her sister looking, Patty did a slow twirl for her and ended it with an impudent curtsy, "Well, I know you said 'casual,' but the shirt's new and I was dying for an excuse to wear it."

Sheila just reached up a hand to pinch her cheek, "It's adorable, Patty. Don't worry about it." Sheila didn't want to get into that discussion in front of her parents, especially as she was certain that they hadn't agreed that Patty's outfit was as dressy as she seemed to think it was.

She shooed the girl inside, then greeted her parents and her brother and sister-in-law. As she was closing the door and directing her mother into the kitchen with the food she'd brought, that was when Berger's family emerged from Cheryl's room. Elaine was holding Cheryl, one of the little girl's hands wrapped firmly in her hair, the other hand tightly clenched around Jack's finger. Sammy was the only one not holding a limb, mainly because she'd dropped the foot she was kissing when she spotted the newcomers. When she saw Patty, she immediately grabbed her mother's elbow, "Mom! That's one of the shirts I was talking about!" Smiling over at Patty, she demanded, "That is a Huckapoo, isn't it?"

Delighted as any girl who's just had her fashion sense appreciated, Patty made a beeline straight for the pair. After she'd greeted her niece, she and Sammy then made their way over to the loveseat to engage in a no-holds-barred fashion discourse. By then, Berger had made his way back over to Sheila and wrapped his arms around her from behind. Letting out a soft snort, he said, "Your sister's only a year older than mine and they obviously have a lot in common... Why didn't we think to introduce them before now?"

Sheila laughed at that, "I have no idea." Turning just enough to smile up at him, she offered, "Maybe we were afraid that they'd successfully plot world domination?"

Berger buried his face in her hair to hide his snickering, "You know... you could be right at that."

Sheila turned the rest of the way around and, eyes taking on a serious cast, asked, "Has Claude come back out yet?" At his heavy sigh and the mute shake of his head, Sheila sighed, too, "Damn it. Maybe I should go talk to him?"

Berger gave her one more squeeze, then let her go, "No, I don't think so." When it looked like Sheila might object, he shook his head, "Sheila, I know you want to help, but there's really not much you can do. He's got to deal with this on his own. If he isn't out by dinner, I'll bring some food in for him, OK? But it's got to be his choice. We can't force him to decide that he's ready... especially if he isn't."

"You're right. Of course, you're right." Sheila opened her mouth to say more, but was diverted by the sound of a crash and Cheryl's delighted laughter.

Elaine's voice immediately called out, "We're OK, nothing's broken and I promise we'll clean it up!"

This was immediately followed up by Jack's voice calling out, "Son, where do you keep the vacuum cleaner?"

Sheila and Berger stared at each other for a few seconds while fighting back the laughter, then Berger rolled his eyes, "I'll go help clean up whatever she spilled, you go talk to your family." He then fled before she had a chance to realize that he'd gotten the better end of the deal by far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**
> 
> Yeah. Nothing. It's the Nyquil this time. And my finger. Yes, I'm just complaining to fill the time. Why do you ask?
> 
> _Coming Soon:_ Claude finally manages to emerge from the bedroom with a little help from Cheryl, just in time to join in the festivities at dinner. It's the Franklins vs. the Bergers in a no-holds-barred battle to the turkey! Round one... ding!
> 
> OK. I'm being a total dork. My finger hurts and I'm doped up on cold medicine. So sue me. ^_^


	7. Zorya Polunochnaya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude finally manages to emerge from the bedroom with a little help from Cheryl, just in time to join in the festivities at dinner. It's the Franklins vs. the Bergers in a no-holds-barred battle to the turkey! Round one... ding!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _December 9, 2010:_** Finger's feeling better - thanks to all who asked! - and the cold is still miserable. Thank G-d for Nyquil, that's all I'm sayin'. O_O At least the semester's almost over. ^_^

Ten steps. Turn. Ten steps. Turn. Ten steps. Turn, again. Stop at the window. Curse loudly. Peer longingly at the fire escape that's one window - a mere 10 feet - away. Realize that if you try to make it from here and get hurt, Berger will blame himself and it will ruin his Thanksgiving. Curse again. Resume pacing.

As Claude paced, he realized that he was feeling more like a trapped animal than he had since leaving the hospital. Last night, for some reason, he'd felt the need to push the issue, to try to reclaim a piece of normalcy that had, until then, completely eluded his grasp. He wanted to try to sleep in the bed with Berger and Sheila, needed to convince himself that he _could_ and that nothing untoward would happen to him if he did. No one was going to punish him here, not for that, not for anything. He needed to convince himself of that, needed to get it through his own thick skull that it was safe.

He'd realized after the first two minutes that it was futile, but he hadn't been willing to give up, had thought that if he laid there long enough his body would eventually give in and fall asleep. It hadn't. He couldn't fight the feeling that he was doing something wrong, was claiming a privilege that he didn't deserve, that he would be punished for... that there would be a price to pay for it come morning. It had driven him from the safety of the bed, back into the corner of the room, just as it had that first night.

He'd hinged on that thought - that here he was, no better than he'd been three weeks ago when they'd first brought him home. He hadn't expected to be instantaneously normal again, but he'd hoped he would make _some_ progress.

Obviously he hadn't made as much as he'd thought.

Those thoughts ran circles around his mind as he sat there, cursing his inability to do something as simple as lay in bed with the two people he loved. It wasn't _fair_. That thought drove him out of the corner into a spate of restless pacing. He just couldn't settle. He needed to get better. He knew he needed to get better. Forget fair to him, it wasn't fair to Berger and Sheila. They were giving him so much - giving _up_ so much because of him - it wasn't fair.

Fleeing the bedroom, he'd gone into the kitchen. He dimly heard Berger get up and follow him, but the other man didn't intrude, hung back far enough that Claude could pretend he didn't know the other man was there. He couldn't explain his restlessness, wouldn't even know where to start. Really... it had a little to do with Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving was a time for family, a time when you gathered together to give thanks for the blessings in your life - and Claude was well aware of how many he had - but something was missing. Berger's family was going to be here. Sheila's family was going to be here. Where the hell did he fit into that? He was a third wheel, an unnecessary accessory, and as proof... _his_ family wouldn't be here. They weren't necessary either.

Which was _stupid_. The main reason that his family wasn't going to be here was that he didn't _want_ them here, didn't want the oppressive feel of his father's disapproval beating down on him from across the table... but that wasn't the whole story, was it? In spite of wanting as clean a break as he could manage from Flushing, he really wouldn't have minded having his mother here. He thought... he thought she might understand... well, everything. She'd understand about Berger and Sheila. She'd understand about Cheryl - G-d, she'd love Cheryl, would spoil her rotten... as if the precocious little girl needed anyone else spoiling her. She'd understand why this was so hard for him. She would. He just knew she would. She always had.

He missed her.

Before a conscious decision could be made, he was at the phone, dialing a number he'd long since thought he'd forgotten. It was almost a shock to hear it start ringing. He let it ring once, twice, three times, heart pounding in his throat as he listened, almost praying. But praying that she _would_ answer... or praying that she wouldn't? Even he didn't know. In the end, he couldn't go through with it, hung up after the third ring.

Fuck! And that restless energy that had no useful outlet drove him to start pacing again. He needed... G-d, he didn't know what he needed and it was making him sick inside. Berger and Sheila had given him this fantastically safe haven where he could feel protected and completely unpressured, but in a way, that didn't help. The only way he was going to be able to start caring about people again was to push himself, to make himself be around them... maybe without Berger or Sheila. And that thought shamed him so thoroughly that it nearly drove him back into the corner. But it felt right. Berger and Sheila... Jesus, he loved them so much and he didn't want to let either of them down, didn't want them to have to deal with the fallout if he screwed up - _when_ he screwed up - but that wasn't a choice. Not the way things were now. He needed help and he was starting to understand that it was help that they couldn't give him.

Heart rising up to pound in his throat again, he'd finally realized that there was only one other person to whom he could turn... and he really didn't want to ask that person for help. But he also knew that he didn't have a choice. Squaring his shoulders and hoping that the other man hadn't been kidding when he'd said he'd be available any time day or night, Claude picked up the phone again, this time pulled out a much abused business card and dialed Dr. Howard's phone number.

It was four rings before the other man picked up, but Claude forced himself to wait it out, to stay on the line. At the fourth ring, someone answered the phone and in a groggy, sleep-fogged voice, said, "Hello? Who is this?" And Claude couldn't answer. He couldn't take that one last step. The other voice came back, a little more awake now and full of confusion, "Hello? Is anyone there?" And Claude still couldn't answer. He tried, but the words he needed danced right out of his grasp, dangled tauntingly just out of reach. The third time the other man spoke, there was now worry in the voice, a dawning understanding, "Claude? Is that you, son?"

And with that identification and the accompanying knowledge that Dr. Howard seemed anything but angry at being awoken at such a ridiculous hour, Claude finally managed to force a confirmation past his lips. At that, Dr. Howard answered, a smile clear to read in his voice, "I thought it must be. I couldn't imagine that anyone else would be calling me at two in the morning the night before Thanksgiving. I take it things aren't going so well...?"

Between the doctor's apparently limitless patience and Claude's fumbling, barely there responses, he'd finally managed to communicate what was wrong. And the funny thing was this: Dr. Howard really hadn't said much, but what little he'd said had actually helped. He'd reassured him, given him a way to approach the problem from a logical standpoint - not the entirety of the situation, no, but the immediate problem. He wanted to sleep in the bed with Berger and Sheila, needed to be close to his chosen family tonight, but he was so restless when he tried that he couldn't sleep. And what Dr. Howard had said was so simple, so intuitive that he was shocked he hadn't thought of it himself. He didn't have to sleep. He could lay down in the bed and just be near them. That wasn't really any different than sitting on a bed and he'd done that many times before with no repercussions. He could do that.

So, he had. And it had worked. He'd gone back into the bedroom and reassured himself that Berger was asleep - or was at least faking it so well that Claude couldn't tell the difference. In retrospect, that was likely what had been going on. Regardless, he'd reassured himself that Berger wasn't going to move, then laid down against him, ear pressed to the other man's chest. He'd fallen asleep like that so often in the past, sprawled half on top of Berger, ear pressed to the left side of his chest, the other man's heartbeat the most soothing lullaby he'd ever heard. And this time was no different. He'd lain there, listening to that beat, the confirmation that Berger was here, was alive, was with him, and forced his body to relax. And to his surprise, with physical relaxation had come mental relaxation and before he knew it, he'd been asleep.

The next morning, he'd jerked awake when Sheila rolled over to get out of bed, more startled by the movement than he should have been. But he couldn't help it. He wasn't used to waking up in a bed anymore, was convinced that since he'd fallen asleep there, something awful was going to happen. Berger had simply reached a hand up, snapped his fingers in Claude's face and once he had Claude's attention, smiled softly at him and said, "Good morning, starshine."

_Good morning, starshine._ Those were Jeanie's words. He remembered. Jeanie had said it once, playing with the words and weaving them into a tune, like she'd done so often when high. Berger had loved it, loved the nonsense syllables she'd spun around them, loved the very essence of what she'd said and had adopted it as his own. It was his own special greeting and it was reserved for Claude. Why? Because Claude had protested so forcefully that it was silly, that "starshine" was a stupid nickname for a grown man. Secretly, though, he'd loved it, loved that Berger reserved that morning greeting just for him. So, he'd come up with a response of his own, something to let Berger think that he was only accepting the greeting to humor the younger man. There was never a doubt in his mind that Berger saw right through that. Forcing himself out of his shocked fear, Claude had just managed to give back his own usual response, "Good morning, yourself."

Berger had laughed, pulled Claude's hand to his lips to kiss the knuckles, then also sat up. The morning had proceeded relatively normally from there, but Claude couldn't shake the feeling that he was outside the situation, face pressed to the glass, looking in. He wasn't a part of this, this Thanksgiving. He wasn't a part of this family. He wasn't a part... He didn't belong. He was a round peg in a square hole, a snap trying to match up with a button. He didn't fit.

He managed to greet Berger's family, but that feeling had driven him away before he could greet Sheila's. He just couldn't do it. That wasn't his family out there and he didn't belong. But he knew Sheila and Berger would be upset by the thought of him sitting alone in the bedroom, especially since they'd done all of this for him. Damn it, he should have talked to Dr. Howard about this, too.

After an hour or two, there was a loud pounding on the door, like something had fallen against it. If Claude hadn't recognized it immediately as Cheryl demanding entrance, the noise likely would have sent him fleeing for cover under the bed. Well, for Cheryl he could make an effort. He could let her in. He got up from the bed, walked over to the door and opened it. Cheryl immediately beamed him a wide grin and crawled forward to latch her arms around his legs and press her face into them, "Ma-ma-BAH!"

Smiling in spite of himself, Claude leaned down and lifted the girl from the floor. She immediately transferred her stranglehold to his neck and leaned her head forward in her usual demand for a kiss. Once he'd obliged her, she leaned back and with a beaming smile started beating her hands against his head. With a laughing snort, he corralled her hands into his and gave each one a kiss, muttered, "Remind me never to let anyone buy you a drum set. Then we'll never get any sleep."

A soft chuckle sounded from off to his left side and a deep voice answered back, "For the record, that's not a wise thing to say when there's a grandparent around. I remember saying exactly the same thing when George was this age... and my parents were obliging enough to buy him one for his next birthday."

Claude looked up, heart pounding, straight into the eyes of Berger's father. Jack just smiled at him, shrugged and held up a hand for Cheryl to grab on to. Satisfied with pulling on the older man's fingers, she stopped beating on Claude, though she did keep her other hand tangled in his hair so he couldn't get away. Jack smiled at the action, "She's awfully taken with you, I see."

And Claude still couldn't force out a single word in response. Pounding through his heart was the idea that he _had_ to make a good impression on this man. This was Berger's _father_ , one of the few people that Berger respected. Berger actually still looked up to him, wanted to make him proud. Claude couldn't screw this up. He _couldn't._ Damn it. He _was_. Desperate to acknowledge the other man's words in some way, he finally nodded.

Jack smiled again, pulled Cheryl's hand closer to give it a laughing nibble. Cheryl squealed with delight and pulled it away. Two seconds later, she gave it right back to him to nibble on again. Before he took it, though, Jack looked back up at Claude and winked, "For the record, so's her father."

How... how the hell could he respond to _that_? Claude felt his heart sink into the vicinity of his stomach, and as hard as it was pounding, that didn't make for a very settled stomach. Did Berger's family _know_? He hadn't even thought to ask, didn't know what was even safe to say.

Eventually Jack took pity on him, waved him into the living room. And he was so glad to be let off the hook with answering that Claude actually didn't hesitate to follow. Two of the dining room chairs were pulled over to the side of the living room, separate from the rest of the seating. Jack waved him over to that spot, let him choose where he'd like to sit, then sat in the other chair. Finally, Jack offered him a small smile and shrugged, "I suppose that wasn't fair of me, was it?" Seeing that Claude was certainly smart enough not to answer that question, Jack laughed, "Look, I don't know what sort of living situation you three have worked out here - and believe you, me, I don't _want_ to know - but I'm also not blind or deaf."

Seeing that he had Claude's attention, he elaborated, "George... he didn't have an easy time of it as a child. He probably doesn't even remember this, but I wasn't around much when he was younger." At Claude's raised eyebrow, he sighed, "I fought in Korea. I was there from the time George was one until he was three. You have no idea how much I regret that, how much I fear that it was responsible for him having so much trouble later on. It was just him and his mom for so long... I don't know."

Leaning back in his chair, Jack looked across the room, smiled as Berger pulled Samantha down onto his lap to tickle her, shook his head, "I worried about him a lot when he first started spending so much time away from home. When he'd actually deign to come home, he'd talk about these kids, just as lost as he was, just as confused. When he started dating Sheila, things got a little better, he straightened up a little, but it didn't last. Nothing touched him, nothing left an impression... until you."

At that, Claude sat up a little, startled. Jack just smiled, nodded in confirmation, "He never spoke your name, never told us any details, but we could all see how taken he was with you, whoever you were. Those few occasions that he came home, you were all he talked about. He... I think he looked up to you, idolized you a little. There was something about you that made him try harder, that made him want to be better. When you were drafted..." He paused, breath catching a little in his throat, "He came home that night and he was beside himself. He wouldn't eat, couldn't sleep, didn't want to talk to any of us. I came down in the middle of the night to find him curled up on the couch looking so, so lost... No father should ever have to see their son cry like that. Nothing I said reached him. All I could do was watch as he withdrew further and further into himself, past all my ability to help. He disappeared the next morning and we didn't see him again until last year."

Claude turned his face into Cheryl's curls, caught by the pain in the older man's voice. He'd known that it was bad, but he somehow hadn't realized... Swallowing hard, he managed to get out, "I... I'm sorry."

Jack lifted a hand, gripped Claude's shoulder, "No. Don't apologize. I didn't tell you this to make you feel bad. I told you so that you would understand how important you are to my son. He loves you. He loves you enough that losing you almost destroyed him." When Claude managed to look up to meet his earnest gaze, he shook a finger at him, "So don't you dare think for one second that you don't belong here. He _wants_ you here." Patting Cheryl's head with a smile, he added, " _She_ wants you here. That should be enough. Right?"

Claude stared, mouth slightly open. He couldn't help it. After a few unsuccessful tries, he managed to croak out, "How... you...? How did you...?"

Jack patted Claude on the shoulder again before he released his grip, "I told you. I fought in Korea. Didn't go through nearly as much as you did, but it left its mark, just the same. So, I have an idea of what you're going through, now. I know how I felt when I came back and I recognized that look in your eyes when you managed to come out before to say hello. I can't tell you that it's all going to get better over night, but it does get better eventually. And in the meantime, just take my word for it. Just like little Cheryl, here, my son thinks you hung the moon. And if he had any idea that you were hiding in the bedroom because you thought you didn't belong here with the rest of us, he'd move heaven and earth to try to convince you otherwise, probably throw us all out on the stoop in the process. OK?"

Claude let out a small huff of a laugh, finally allowed himself to relax, "Yeah... Somehow, I think you're right."

Before the older man could respond to that, Berger's mother had come up behind him, rested her hands on his shoulders. Giving Claude a gentle smile, she said accusingly, "A-ha! So you're the culprits that are monopolizing my grandchild!"

Cheryl laughed at Elaine, blew a few raspberries. Elaine blew one right back. Squealing happily, Cheryl then held her arms up to her grandmother. Elaine lifted an eyebrow at Claude, silently asking permission before taking the child from him. He smiled, handed her over, "Please, be my guest, Mrs. Berger."

She rolled her eyes, made a dismissive motion with her hand, "Please. Mrs. Berger is his mother," she indicated her husband with a nod of her head, "Call me Elaine."

Hiding his smile as best he was able, he said, "Certainly." Satisfied with that response, Elaine then carted Cheryl off to go play with Sam and Patty. Claude could only shake his head. She was so very different. G-d, he didn't think he'd ever seen his mother so carefree, so... happy. That thought brought him up short. No... he'd never seen his mother that happy. That... why did that make him feel so guilty?

Before he had a chance to ponder the question any further, Berger yelled out, "Soup's on! Come and get it!"

Sheila promptly smacked him on the shoulder and said, "Berger! Casual doesn't mean rude!"

He just offered her a sheepish grin and shrugged. He then exchanged a glance with Samantha, who promptly burst into giggles. Sheila's eyebrow started to twitch. Elaine walked over with Cheryl, handed her to her mother and with a blush quietly explained, "This one's actually not his fault. When they were younger it was really hard to pull them away from playing out in the leaves to sit down to Thanksgiving dinner. One year, my husband bought one of those triangles - you know the ones - and stood at the back door ringing it and yelling out that phrase. The kids thought it was fantastic and came running right in. He did it the next year, too, and as a tradition... it sort of stuck."

Sheila just stared at the other woman, mouth agape. Berger started to snicker, poked her once in the side for good measure. Finally she rolled her eyes, "OK, OK, do what you like. I give up."

Before Berger could yell out again, Roger stood up and, with a sour look, waved him silent, "We got the idea. Dinner's ready. We're coming." And that was how dinner started, tempers stewing right along with the carrots and potatoes.

* * *

Berger had been watching for Claude to emerge from the bedroom all afternoon to no avail. And in spite of his brave words to Sheila, it was making him more than a little nervous. Still, if Claude needed to hide all day, he needed to hide all day. Honestly, Berger was starting to wish that he could join him, promises to Sheila be damned.

He had to admit though, his family was doing well. They were doing everything in their power to make today easier for he and Sheila and he appreciated it like mad. Hell, his mother had even managed to rope Evelyn and Barbara (Sheila's mother and sister-in-law) into helping to set the table and get the food ready. His father had gotten Sheila's father, Harold, and her brother, Roger, to help mind Cheryl and Sammy and Patty seemed to be getting along more than famously without any help. One thing was certain - Patty had come a long way from being the scrawny thirteen year old that he and Woof had mistaken for a ten year old at the shore that summer. It was easy to see the resemblance between she and her sister, now, easy to see that she would no doubt turn heads. Hell, if he wasn't more than blessed in that regard himself, right now, she'd have turned his, too.

Regardless, though, there were points of tension all afternoon. Sheila's parents obviously didn't approve of the informality of the situation. Sheila's brother clearly didn't approve of Sammy or the effect she was having on Patty. Sheila's sister-in-law, however, was getting along famously with Berger's mother... which was irritating Sheila's mother to no end. The only one who seemed to be having an unalloyed good time was Cheryl. So, in the end, maybe it was for the best that Claude was hiding. Honestly, Berger wasn't sure he'd have wanted to subject the other man to all of this brewing hostility.

So, it was with no small amount of consternation that he'd seen Cheryl decide that she'd had enough of everyone else and she wanted Claude... and she wanted him _now_. She slipped away from Berger's father, crawling as fast as her little limbs could move her, and threw herself at the door to the bedroom. Berger tried to extricate himself from Roger and Harold to go retrieve his daughter, but he wasn't fast enough. His father reached the little girl just in time for Claude to open the door to let her in.

Berger froze, half-standing, feeling like he was watching a train wreck. He'd never explicitly told his family about Claude, about who he was and how he fit into his and Sheila's life. He knew that Woof had danced around telling them at that first visit, was pretty certain that his mother and sister had it figured out, but his father... Shit. This had the potential to be very bad. In slow motion, he dropped back down onto the couch, silently urging his father to do what Berger wanted instead of what he obviously planned to do, _Come on, Dad. Just let him take Cheryl and disappear back inside. Just... don't... damn it._ Needless to say, his father didn't hear the silent urging and started trying to converse with Claude, used his playing with Cheryl as a distraction as he did.

Claude was staring at the older man like a deer in headlights, frozen in horror, unsure of which way to jump. But Berger's father was nothing if not persistent and to Berger's utter shock, he not only managed to get Claude to talk, but managed to coax him out into the living room, too. At that point, Sheila walked over to the couch and bent over to speak into his ear, "Did I just see what I think I just saw?"

Berger couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of his father and Claude sitting in the living room, talking and playing with Cheryl as though it was completely normal. But he did answer Sheila in an awed tone of voice, "Well... if you just saw Cheryl and my father working in tandem to trick Claude out of the bedroom and coax him to stay out... then yeah, you just saw what you think you saw." Their eyes met and Berger slowly shook his head, "I wouldn't believe it either, if I hadn't just seen it myself."

Sheila's lips stretched into a wide smile that luminously lit her eyes and she bent down to press a firm kiss against Berger's cheek, "Have I ever mentioned how much I love your family?"

Berger laughed, pulled her arms around him and hugged them close as he snuggled back against her, "I think it's been mentioned once or twice..."

Thirty minutes later, he was thinking back on that moment with wistfulness. Dinner had turned into a beyond-interesting affair. He hadn't even thought when he'd called everyone to dinner. It hadn't even occurred to him that Sheila's family might consider it rude, he'd just remembered that little tradition from his own family and knew that _they_ would appreciate the humor. Hell, even Claude had looked up from the corner of the room and managed a smile for him. Damn it.

They'd settled around the table in two neatly divided camps. Berger was at one end of the table with Claude to his left and his mother to his right. Samantha was next to their mother with Patty on her other side. Berger's father sat to Claude's left. Sheila's father was next to Berger's with her mother on his other side. Sheila sat at the opposite end of the table, Cheryl's high chair on her right between her and her mother and her brother and his wife on her left between her and Patty. It almost felt like a case of the Franklins vs. the Bergers and Berger was _not_ thrilled about the implications. Neither was Sheila, if the sour look on her face was any indication. They were gearing up for a war and they could both feel it. Damn it. He didn't want a war in his own home on his first Thanksgiving with _his_ family. And he would do whatever it took to make sure it didn't happen.

The first battle of the night could have been over the toast, but Berger neatly avoided that one by waving Sheila to stand and give it. She was the most eloquent one at the table and none of the men would fight a woman for anything, especially not in her own home. Sheila smiled, gave him a small nod of gratitude and stood, raising her glass. After looking around the table at everyone sitting there, her face softened, took on a glow of pure happiness and she began to speak, "I have so much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving, I hardly even know where to start."

Cheryl chose that moment to bang her hands on her high chair. Berger's entire family, Patty and Barbara all laughed at that. Even Sheila's mother cracked a smile. Sheila just bent down and took one of Cheryl's hands in hers, gave it a kiss, "Of course, how could I forget? Naturally, a list of things for which I'm thankful should start with you, sweetheart." After she gave Cheryl another kiss, she straightened up, looked towards the other end of the table. And the look she sent Berger and Claude's way was heated, to say the least, "And of course, it should continue with the two of you. Without you both, I wouldn't have her... and I wouldn't have all the other blessings in my life."

Berger smiled, blew her a kiss. Next to him, Claude ducked his head. At that action, Berger frowned, poked him lightly in the side until he looked up again. The older man shrugged, waved away Berger's concern as though it meant nothing, and right now, it probably did. Berger leaned over, planted a soft peck of a kiss against the other man's temple, then motioned Sheila to keep speaking.

Fortunately, Sheila was always good at picking up on a hint and resumed her toast, "I suppose what it boils down to is family. I am grateful for my family... for all my family." Reaching out a hand to her brother, she smiled when he squeezed it in response, "I'm thankful for my big brother and my little sister." Smiling at Barbara, she added, "I'm grateful for my older sister, too." Barbara ducked her head, but smiled readily enough when Patty wrapped an arm around her shoulders to give her a squeeze.

"I'm thankful for my parents and for how accommodating they've been this year." Evelyn smiled, had the grace at least to scowl at her husband when he didn't. Sheila sighed, but continued, looking further up the table at Berger's family, "And I'm grateful to my new family, as well, grateful that knowing Berger has brought you into my life. I'm glad that we could all be here, healthy and happy, at this season." Raising her glass, she finished off with, "May we all remain so for many, many seasons to come."

There was a spate of glass clinking and a few "Here Here!"s, then everyone settled back down. With a silently apologetic look for his father, Berger turned towards that side of the table and cleared his throat, "Mr. Franklin?" Sheila's father turned towards him with a look on his face like a man who's smelled something foul. Berger ignored the look and gave the man a bright smile, "Your daughter tells me that you're something of an expert when it comes to turkey carving. I certainly wouldn't want to step on your toes..." He waved the man towards the carving utensils.

The two men stared across the table at each other, weighing and measuring. Finally, Harold picked up the carving knife with a slight sniff and said, "Wise choice. It's generally better to leave these things to those who know how to handle them."

Sheila stiffened where she was sitting, looked like she might say something in response, but Berger waved her silent. He could take it. He could take anything her father dished out. He didn't care. What he _didn't_ want, was her father taking out his ire on Claude. And if he remained focused on Berger, he hopefully wouldn't. Any amount of needling was worth that price. Seeing the pleading look in his eyes, Sheila sighed, nodded. Then she deliberately pasted a smile on her face and picked up the sweet potatoes to take a helping for Cheryl and herself before passing it to Roger.

Silence reigned for the next few minutes as the serving platters were passed around. And Berger couldn't help but notice, with something akin to alarm, that very little of that food was ending up on Claude's plate. He poked the other man in the side, hissed quietly in his ear, "Hey, what gives, man? You letting Bitter McSnipeyPants get to you?"

Claude jerked, clearly not having expected to be spoken to. He shook his head, then slumped a little in his seat, mumbled, "I'm not that hungry."

Berger frowned in response, "The hell you're not. You haven't eaten anything all day. You have to be hungry. Would you rather I brought you a plate to eat in the bedroom? I know Sheila doesn't like us eating in the bed, but I think she'd be willing to make an exception under the circumstances. Just say the word."

Claude shook his head, miserably. Berger sighed, gripped his hand under the table, "Claudio... I wasn't gonna say anything, but... you do this a lot. You don't eat enough." At Claude's guilty look, Berger rubbed his thumb reassuringly over his knuckles, "I don't mean to scold or anything, but you need to put some weight back on. You were always skinny, but since you got back..." He shook his head, "I noticed, OK? So, if you're not comfortable eating out here, you can eat in the bedroom. Whatever you need, right, Claudio? This is your Thanksgiving, too."

Before the other man could answer, a voice broke into their conversation from down the table, "And what about you, Mr. Bukowski? Are you a thigh or a breast man?" When Claude and Berger turned to look at Sheila's father, his mouth stretched into a cruel smile, "Oh, that's right. Forget I asked. I hear you prefer rump roast."

For a moment, no one at the table moved. All the women were shooting murderous glances at Sheila's father and even Cheryl had stopped eating to stare at what was going on. Berger couldn't think of a single thing to say in response. All he was aware of was Claude, frozen stock-still beside him, face growing paler with each passing second. He couldn't respond, couldn't answer that unexpected malice, and besides, he couldn't say anything in Claude's defense without making the situation worse.

What he didn't expect was what finally happened. Berger's father and Sheila's brother, nearly in unison, threw down their napkins and got to their feet. Jack growled out, "If you have something to say, why don't you just say it?" At the same time, Roger ground out, "Father, that is _enough_." The two men then paused, sized each other up and nodded, turned back to face Sheila's father.

Now that... that was a surprise. Berger expected his father to stand up for him and it wasn't too much of a stretch to see that he would do the same for Claude. The man had a bigger, more caring heart than even he knew and he'd taken a liking to Claude. Roger, though... that was unexpected. And apparently he wasn't the only one who thought so. Sheila's father gestured at his son with the hand still holding the knife, "Do you mean to tell me that you're defending what's going on here?" At his son's blank look, he gestured down the table at Berger and Claude, "Your sister is living in a polygamous relationship with two men, which would be bad enough. But that those two men are having sexual intercourse with each other, as well? It's _unnatural_. You can't defend it."

Roger's fist clenched at his side in response to his father's words. In a deceptively quiet tone of voice, he answered, "Sheila is old enough to make her own choices. I may not agree with all of them, but I do stand by her right to make them. And regardless of anything else he has or has not done, the one thing I know about Claude is that he is a fellow Viet Nam veteran and he's survived horrors the likes of which you and I can't even dream. That's all I _need_ to know, Father. I won't stand by and watch you, a man who has never even picked up a weapon to defend this country, impugn the honor of a man who has. I won't have it, especially not at his own table, in his own home." When his father opened his mouth to respond, he roared back, "And **not in front of me.** "

Sheila's father froze, mouth still open, unable to process what had just happened. Roger continued, eyes bright with passion and hand still clenched into a fist, "When I graduated high school, you gave me three options: go to law school and join you in the family firm, enlist or be disowned. You knew then that I didn't have any desire to study law. I let you force me into that decision and believe you me, it's one that's left scars. And since I returned, you've had nothing but scorn for me, for disappointing you, for daring to survive and come home relatively intact when so many men didn't, G-d only knows why, because I sure as hell don't." Pointing towards the other end of the table, he bit out, "But I'll be damned if I let you take your anger with me out on a man that's done nothing to deserve it. So give me the carving knives, sit down and shut your ass up. If you can't do that, I suggest you leave and let the rest of us eat in peace."

By the end of that speech, Sheila had a hand clapped to her mouth, her eyes bright with unshed tears. Claude was gripping Berger's hand hard beneath the table, but there was some small amount of vindication shining in his eyes. Berger was ready to leap from his seat and cheer. It didn't matter what else Sheila's brother did from this point on - Berger would love him forever for this one act alone. After a seemingly endless moment, Sheila's father handed Roger the carving knives and sat down. He looked like a man who'd just been smacked in the back of the head with a board.

Roger took a deep breath, then turned towards Berger's father and made as though to hand him the carving knives, "Mr. Berger? Would you-"

Before he could even complete the sentence, however, Jack shook his head and sat back down, "No, son, I would not. I think you've more than earned the privilege yourself, don't you?"

Though his cheeks turned a light shade of pink at those words, Roger nodded and wordlessly resumed carving the turkey. He finished serving the women at the table, then before asking any of the other men, he turned to Claude and quietly asked, "So... _do_ you have a preference?"

Seeing that no answer was forthcoming from Claude, he turned and quirked an eyebrow at Berger. Berger sighed, patted Claude's knee under the table. Turning to look at Claude as though daring him to speak up and say otherwise, he said dryly, "He'll take a leg." He knew from watching him the last few weeks that if it was on Claude's plate, he'd eat it - his Army training being useful for once - and Berger was determined to get him to eat. Sure enough, Claude didn't argue, just resignedly held out his plate when Roger leaned across the table with the turkey leg. He did, however, kick Berger under the table for his interference. And rather than dampen Berger's spirits, that one action lifted them in a way nothing else could have, because it was pure Claude. It was something Claude would have done - _had_ done - before the war. In the midst of what was turning into a horrible evening, it was a ray of hope and Berger was going to bask in it, consequences be damned. So, when Roger turned towards Berger to ask his preference in meat, Berger let his lips stretch wide in a grin that had Sheila moaning into her hands and Claude snickering quietly at his side before he even opened his mouth.

As for what he said?

"Nuh-uh, man. Weren't you paying attention? I'm waiting for the rump roast."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**
> 
> You know what? I'm kind done making excuses. It's not like anyone reads the author's notes anyway. ^_^ Maybe for the next chapter.


	8. The Midnight Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally... a little resolution. a.k.a. - when we learn exactly how awesome Berger's family really is and Roger and Barbara prove that they'd fit right in with them. ^_^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _December 10, 2010:_** Well, last night's rest seems to have done me some good. I'm not anywhere near as sniffly and my finger doesn't hurt or need a band-aid anymore. ^_^ Yeah! *coughs* Anyway, I wanted to get this posted nice and early because once I get involved with the day I'm going to get busy really quickly and I have a late rehearsal for tomorrow's chorale concert. I didn't want to end up posting this at midnight, especially because all the happy stuff happens in this chapter, and I had a feeling you'd all need it after the last chapter. ^_^

When dinner was over, the women retired to the kitchen to start cleaning up the dishes, and in spite of Sheila's protests, they shooed her away from helping. With a resigned sigh, she turned back to the living room to see what everyone else was up to. Roger was still in the kitchen, doing who knew what. Berger, his father, Sam and Patty were sprawled out on the floor, playing with Cheryl, and Claude and her father were each sitting off in a corner by themselves. It was enough to make her want to scream in frustration. That was when Roger stepped up next to her, wrapped a gentle arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to her temple, "And do I dare ask who earned that expression today? G-d, I hope it wasn't me."

Sheila laughed, poked her brother in the side, "Oh, you. You know damned well who earned this expression." She then wrapped her arms around him, "You get _this_ expression." Leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss her brother's cheek, Sheila beamed a smile up at him, "Thank you. I... I didn't know he had it in him to do something like that." Voice quieting, she whispered, "I've never been so ashamed of him in my life. I didn't think I _could_ be ashamed of him. He's my _father_."

Roger cradled her close, rubbed a gentle hand against her back and sighed, "Yeah, well, you haven't been home much these last few years. He's changed... and not for the better."

Sheila leaned back away from her brother, "And I had no idea he'd said that to you. Did he really tell you that if you didn't go to school pre-law or enlist he'd disown you? How... how could he do something like that? How did I not _know_ he'd done that?"

Roger sighed, brushed Sheila's hair back from her face, "You were fourteen, Sheila. How _could_ you have known? He certainly wasn't going to tell you and it wasn't your problem to solve. I made my choice and I stand by it. If I hadn't enlisted, I'd have ended up in a career I hated or I'd have dropped out of school and been drafted anyway. This way, I at least made it through relatively unscathed." Nodding over at Claude, he said, "Unlike your poor friend there." Shaking his head, he sighed, "I have too many friends with eyes like that, so locked up in the trauma of their own past that they can barely see past it. Enlisting spared me that, at least." Reaching up, he tweaked Sheila's nose, "Besides, if I hadn't enlisted, I wouldn't have met Barbara. That's got to be worth something in the pro category, right?"

Sheila smiled, wrapped her arm back around her brother, "I suppose so, big brother. I suppose so. _I_ like her, anyway. And she's good for you, you can see it. I'm still sorry about this, though. I still wish I'd known. I would have said something. Maybe I could have changed his mind."

"Maybe you could have, at that, Sheila-bear. Maybe you could have," was his response. After another moment, he stepped away, "Look, why don't you go try to talk to him, hmm? He always did listen to you better than the rest of us." He then nodded in Claude's direction, "I'll go over there, see if he'll talk to me. I doubt it... but you never know, right?"

In total concert for once, the two bumped fists, then waggled their fingers at each other as they pulled away. It was an old gesture, one from early on her childhood when she'd still thought Roger hung the moon. And after tonight... after tonight, Sheila was again half-convinced that he had. That is... until she figured out that for the second time that night, a man had tricked her into taking the bum end of the deal. Sighing heavily, she stalked over to the corner to deal with her father.

* * *

Claude watched the interchange between Sheila and her brother, alert with the knowledge that he had to pay attention and weary with the warring knowledge that he was having trouble staying awake to do it. There was no way he was falling asleep now, though. He'd never manage it with all these people in the apartment, especially as one had clearly labeled himself an enemy. As a result of his preoccupation, he missed the moment when Sheila and her brother parted and completely lost track of him until the man arrived at his side and gestured at the chair, "This seat taken?"

Claude was tempted to tell him that it was and shoo him away, but he couldn't repay what the man had done for him at the dinner table with that level of rudeness. It just wouldn't be right. Instead, he shrugged, trying to indicate that he didn't care one way or the other what Sheila's brother did. He seemed to sense that and just smiled, "I brought a bribe, if that helps..."

At those words, Claude finally managed to look up at the other man, focused on what was being held out to him. Coffee. Steaming, black and very strong from the smell of it. Claude shot him a look of pure gratitude as he reached out and took the cup, even managed a quiet, "Thanks."

"No problem," he responded as he sat down. Sighing, he took a sip of his own coffee, "I wanted... Look, I wanted to apologize for my father. What he said, it wasn't the time or place for it and it wasn't even you he was really trying to attack. You were a civilian casualty in that one, I'm afraid."

Claude sighed, nodded in understanding. He knew the feeling, understood all too well the relationship between Sheila's brother and her father as it so closely mirrored his own with his. He looked up, met the other man's eyes, shrugged again, "I get it."

The man shook his head, let out a soft laugh, "Yeah... somehow, I think you actually might. You get along similarly well with your own father, I imagine." At Claude's hesitant nod, he sighed, "Thought so from how you were reacting to certain other things tonight." When Claude raised an eyebrow, Sheila's brother slowly smiled and he said just two words, "Mr. Berger."

Claude's eyes widened and in spite of himself, he found his lips twitching into a small smile of his own which he quickly buried into his coffee cup. Again, he understood exactly what the other man was talking about. To someone who'd grown up with a father as distant and unreachable as the stars, a father like Berger's was... well, he was damned near incomprehensible. It was obvious that he loved his children, that he loved his wife. It was obvious that he didn't believe in much formality - hell, any father that would buy a triangle and stand at the back door ringing it and yelling, "Come and get it!" to get his children to come in for Thanksgiving dinner couldn't be a stickler for proper etiquette. And his easy acceptance and support of Claude... like he'd said, it was damned near incomprehensible.

The other man's lips twitched right along with his. Eventually, he held out a hand, "I actually don't think we were ever properly introduced. Roger Franklin. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Tentatively holding out his own hand, Claude said simply, "Claude Bukowski. Likewise," then shook the other man's hand. After a few more moments of silence, Claude couldn't keep back the question any longer, "You... you served in Nam?"

A weary nod in response, "Yep. Nam, the early years, that is. Things weren't quite so intense back then, hadn't heated up quite so badly. Hell, it was pure bad luck that I even ended up over there. There weren't many of us there back then. I honestly thought it was more likely I'd end up in Korea. My platoon and I were pretty shocked to be diverted." Wrapping his hands around his coffee cup for warmth, Roger's voice quieted, "That was one nasty piece of hell on Earth, though, I will tell you that. The real thing couldn't be much worse, if you ask me."

Claude snorted, lifted his eyes long enough to meet Roger's, "If you're looking for an argument, you're not going to get one out of me, that's for damned sure."

That startled a laugh out of the older man, "No, no, I imagine I won't." Eyes again taking on a serious cast, Roger cleared his throat, "Sheila... Sheila mentioned that you were a POW. Is that true?"

Claude's breath caught at the simple question, his hands shook on his coffee mug. He quickly lowered it to rest on his leg so he wouldn't spill it. He had to force his answer through clenched teeth, "Yes. And... if it's all the same, I'd rather not discuss it."

Roger ducked his gaze, seemed embarrassed that he'd even asked at all. Clearing his throat, he said, "My apologies. I don't even know why I... oh hell. Just forget I even asked, OK?" Casting around quickly for some other topic, Roger's eyes landed on Cheryl and Berger. Smiling softly, he said, "A different question, then..." When he saw that Claude had refocused on the conversation, he continued, "What exactly _is_ the deal with the three of you?" At Claude's instantly sharp and protective look, he held up his free hand, "Not that I'm judging! I just want to know." At Claude's continued narrow-eyed glare, he sighed, "You have to understand. If you'd asked me which of my sisters would have the guts to get herself involved in a three-way relationship with two men, I'd have told you neither. But if you'd made me pick, I would have said Patty. Sheila's got guts and she's got passion, but this...? Let's just say, I'd never have pictured it. I'm still not entirely sure I'm comfortable with the idea, but I'd like to try to understand."

Meeting Roger's eyes and finally understanding the reasoning behind the question, Claude relaxed. No matter what else he was, Roger was an older brother. And what Claude had heard from every older brother and younger sister he'd ever known was that it was an older brother's G-d-given right to be overprotective and annoyingly nosy. The latter, of course, being the younger sisters' opinion. With a soft huff of a laugh, he shrugged, "Berger and Sheila were dating when we met. And the Tribe... the Tribe was very casual about who slept with who, like it didn't matter. It was all just love to them."

Roger snorted out a laugh, "Ah yes. I've heard stories about this Tribe. And truth be told, I didn't know whether to blush or ask if I was too old to join. It sounded like you all had a lot of fun."

A wistful smile touched Claude's lips briefly before fleeing again, "Yeah... I suppose we did." He cleared his throat, "Anyway, they were dating and Berger and I... I don't know. We had something. I couldn't define it for you, it didn't even make sense to me then, but we undeniably had something. I didn't want to pursue it, though. I figured that if he wanted more from me than sex, than even _he_ had to consider that cheating. Besides... up until that point, I'd only ever slept with girls." A brief smile touched his lips again as he continued, "But George Berger is not one to deny himself something that he wants. Ever. So in a piece of brilliantly twisted logic, he decided that if it was cheating to get involved with me, then he'd just get Sheila involved with me, too. That way, no one could claim cheating, because we were all getting equal pieces of the same pie." At Roger's incredulous look, Claude snorted out a laugh, "Yeah. I know. That's Berger-logic for you. You learn to love it after a while... or at least to duck your head and stay out of its way."

Letting out his own laugh at the long-suffering look on Claude's face, Roger shook his head, "Yeah, he doesn't strike me as the kind of man who takes no for an answer. He's the kind that rearranges the whole damned universe to suit himself, everyone else's opinion be damned, isn't he?"

Lifting his eyes to watch Berger play with their daughter, Claude's lips again tipped into a wistful smile, "Yeah... he certainly is. You know something, though? I wouldn't have him any other way. And he was right. It worked and we were happy." Sighing softly, he looked back down at his coffee mug, took a sip. When he lowered his mug again, he added, "Until I went and fucked the whole thing up. And now... fuck. Now, I don't think we'll ever get it back on track. And after today... I'm not even sure we _should_."

Roger frowned, scowled down into his coffee mug like he couldn't believe he was about to say what he was about to say, finally caved in and said it anyway, "For what it's worth - and G-d forgive me for even suggesting this - I think you should and I think you will." Taking a deep breath, he said, "Understand that I say this as a man who loves Sheila dearly and wouldn't change her for the world." Smiling ruefully, he continued, "Berger's a good guy at heart, I can see it, I could even see it last year, but he can't handle my sister alone. I'm not sure any one man could. But somehow... even with things as strained as they've been today, I can see how the two of you together can manage it. Something about the three of you... if I turn my brain sideways far enough, I can almost see how it is that you work. And I think you need each other. I'm not sure that this thing you have going would really work with one of you missing. I mean, between last Thanksgiving and this one... there was something out of balance between the two of them last year. Now, with the three of you together - even with you the way you are - things seem more balanced. Jesus, did that even make sense? Fuck, I really can't believe I just said that." Bowing his head low over his coffee mug, he muttered under his breath, "I should be trying to convince you of the opposite. What the hell am I doing?"

Claude huffed out a short laugh, reached out a hand to pat Roger on the shoulder, "As you said, you're speaking as a man who loves Sheila and wouldn't change her." At Roger's confused look, he explained, "You're speaking from your heart. She's your little sister, you love her and you want her to be happy. How is that wrong?"

Roger slowly smiled, raised his coffee mug in salute, then downed the rest like it was a fortifying brandy. Claude's eyebrow twitched and he stared down into his own mug, then glanced sharply up at Roger. Roger caught the look, started to laugh, "Don't worry. I may have helped out my own coffee, but I'm not Donna. I wouldn't help yours without asking first."

Mollified, Claude drank the rest of his coffee. It was at that point that Sheila and her father approached the pair. Not wanting to be sitting down for this confrontation, Claude quickly stood, placed his empty mug down on the chair and dropped his hands to his sides, stance loose and easy. He would _not_ be caught unawares twice.

Roger caught the posture and tried to catch Sheila's eyes to warn her. He knew how quickly battle-trained reflexes could do something unforgivable, tried to tell her with his eyes that this was a bad idea. Sheila, however, was determined and simply reached a hand down to take one of Claude's in hers. He jerked, not having expected that soft contact, then frowned. Sheila just raised his hand and placed it against her cheek, "This won't take long, I promise. My father just has something he'd like to say."

By the looks of it, Mr. Franklin most certainly did not. Whatever he was about to do, it wasn't by choice - Sheila had just bullied him into it. Claude recognized the look - he'd worn it often enough, himself. The man cleared his throat and finally managed to force out the following words, "I apologize for how I acted at the dinner table. It was rude, it was inappropriate and it won't happen again. You have my word."

Claude met the other man's eyes, gauged his sincerity. Oh, he was sorry he'd been rude, all right, that much was true, but he wasn't sorry for what he'd said. He could see it in the man's eyes. Well, two could play at that game. Claude was beyond tired of being treated as subhuman by yet another man who didn't have the right to make that judgment. He allowed his eyes to grow cold and distant, held himself a little straighter, let a little menace creep into his voice, "Provisionally, I accept your apology, Mr. Franklin. For Sheila, for Cheryl, for Berger, I accept it. And for your sake, I hope you mean it. I hope you'll remember it." Eyes narrowing, he all but hissed out, "I don't handle threats against the ones I love very well, Mr. Franklin. I hope you'll remember that, too."

His own eyes widening, Sheila's father slowly nodded. Swallowing hard, he said, "I will. I think we understand each other, Mr. Bukowski."

Claude nodded, "Good. See that we continue to." Then with those his parting words, he collected his and Roger's coffee mugs and left to take them into the kitchen. Sheila's father fled back to his corner a mere moment later.

Roger and Sheila stared at each other for a moment, then Sheila pressed herself close to Roger's side and shivered. Roger held her close, ran a soothing hand over her hair, "Easy there, Sheila-bear. It's OK."

A slightly hysterical giggle in response to that, "How can it be OK? Did you miss what happened here? Claude just threatened Father! I... I didn't know he had it in him to do that. He's not usually that out of control."

Placing a gentle kiss on Sheila's head, Roger pushed her back out to arms-length to meet her eyes, "Sheila, I need you to understand something. While I'm sure your friend doesn't make idle threats, I'm also sure that he _was_ in complete control when he made this one. This was a deliberate, well-calculated move on his part and it wasn't one he made without thinking through the consequences." At Sheila's confused look, he pulled her close again, "Aside from you and Berger, no one else here knew Claude before the war. And all we've seen of him tonight has been a scared, traumatized ex-soldier who can barely socialize with a small group at the holidays. He's the classic picture of the 'Viet Nam Vet,' a veritable poster child for PTSD. He isn't stupid, though. He knows that. With the rest of us, as he gets better, he'll have time to fix that first impression. With Father, though, he knows he isn't going to get that chance. So, if he can't make Father see him as a worthwhile human being, he has to make Father see him as a threat. That way, at least he'll be left alone and Father won't pull any more stunts like he did tonight."

Sheila stared up at him, eyes wide, "I... I think I understand."

Roger laughed, shook his head, "That thing is... I'm not entirely sure that you do." Giving the top of Sheila's head another kiss, he said, "He didn't do this for himself, Sheila. For himself... Jesus, you can see it in his eyes. There are only three people in this room that that man cares one whit for - you, Berger and Cheryl. That's it. The rest of us could drop dead and he wouldn't bat an eyelash. So, he doesn't give a rat's ass what our father thinks of him... but he knows you do." As understanding slowly dawned on Sheila's face, Roger's smile widened, "That's right, Sheila-bear. He didn't do this for himself... he did it for you."

Sheila thought for a minute, slowly put together what had happened with what she knew of Claude's problems, eventually nodded, "I see it, Roger. I see what you're saying. And I _do_ understand." Reaching up to lightly kiss his cheek, she gave him another soft smile, "Thank you. I won't forget either."

And it was at that moment that Berger's mother announced that dessert was ready and called them all back to the table for round two. Sheila sighed, "You ready, big brother?"

Roger gave her one last squeeze before letting go, "I was born ready, little sister." Sharing a commiserating look, the two then made their way back to the table.

* * *

Claude stared around at the chaos in the kitchen with barely concealed panic in his eyes. Who'd have thought that three women could cause such a flurry of activity? All he wanted to do was put the mugs in the sink. Maybe... maybe it could wait. Before he had a chance to flee the vicinity, however, he was noticed, "Ah! Claude! Perfect. Come over here for a minute."

Wincing appropriately, Claude nonetheless did as instructed And somehow, on his trip across the kitchen, both coffee mugs disappeared out of his hands. Barbara gave him a quick flash of a smile from the sink, then turned back to washing the dishes. Claude could only stare. He hadn't even seen her move... Berger's mother called out again, "Hurry up! We don't have all night."

Not one to ignore a summons like that, Claude did as asked and hurried over to Elaine's side of the kitchen. When he got there, it was to find a spoon of... something... being held in his face. Elaine gave him a widely smirking smile from behind the spoon, and it was a smile he recognized all too well. He'd seen it on Berger's face often enough... and it put him immediately on his guard, because that expression had landed him in more than his fair share of trouble in its day. He could almost feel himself starting to sweat as he asked, "Mrs. Berger...?" At the abrupt narrowing of her eyes, he amended, "Elaine... can I help you with something?"

And there was that brightly mischievous smile again. "You most certainly can. I need a taste-tester," then she gestured with the spoon.

Understanding what she wanted this time, he held up his hand for the spoon. He would do a lot of things for Berger's parents, but he'd be damned if he let his mother feed him like a baby. She rolled her eyes but handed it over, eyes excited. Warily, he placed it in his mouth, though he was still trying to figure out what on Earth it was. A second later, he stopped caring. There was... well, there was chocolate. There was definitely chocolate. A lot of chocolate. Was there cake? He thought there might be cake. And Nestle's Crunch. There was definitely some of that, too. Pudding? Yes, there was pudding, as well. Maybe some whipped cream. Oh, who _cared_? He just wanted another spoonful. Opening eyes that he'd been unaware that he'd closed until that moment, he gazed at the smirking woman in front of him with no small amount of admiration. In an awed tone of voice, he said quietly, "I think I see now why Berger used to describe that as 'almost better than sex.' Though I have to say... I'm not entirely sure about that 'almost' qualifier."

Elaine laughed, obligingly scooped another spoonful out of the bowl for him and handed it over. This time Claude took the time to appropriately savor it as it went down. When he opened his eyes this time, he said intently, "Berger's right. You _have_ to teach Sheila how to make that."

Another laugh, this one even heartier than the last, "Sheila is a smart woman and thus refuses to be officially taught. I think she's afraid that my son would make her make it every night if he thought she knew how." Smiling up at him, she added, "But do you want to know the secret?" Claude eagerly nodded. She laughed, licked some pudding off her finger, "The secret is that it isn't that hard. I could teach you right now, if you wanted. It wouldn't even take that long."

Claude thought about it for a moment, weighed the benefits of being able to make that dessert whenever he chose with the potential cons of Berger abusing the privilege of having someone in the house who knew how. He slowly shook his head, "No... on second thought, I think I'll just leave it to the expert."

At the dry, laughing tone of his voice, Elaine turned to look at him, snickered at the sly expression on his face, "I see you're a smart man, Claude Bukowski. Very well. We'll string him along for just a little longer, shall we?" She then winked at him and went back to stirring.

A moment later, another voice - Sheila's mother, this time - called out from the other side of the kitchen, "Oh! Claude, you're still here. Would you be kind enough to reach the sugar bowl for me? That's a dear."

Before he knew it, Claude was being traded back and forth between the three women like a valuable commodity, each asking him to reach "just one more thing" or to take "just one more" serving platter back out to the breakfront or to sample "just one more" dessert as it was being put together. And honestly, he'd have been hard pressed to say that he minded. In truth... it was the most fun he'd had since... Jesus, since before being drafted. For that one precious moment, that one oasis of calm in the midst of the day's chaos, he could forget. He could forget the war, forget the horrors he'd witnessed, forget that dreaded disconnect between himself and the rest of humanity. He could forget it all and just be a boy helping his mother in the kitchen. And if secretly he felt a twinge of guilt that it _wasn't_ his mother he was helping, he was at least able to push it aside and still enjoy the experience.

And when Elaine called the rest of the family back to the table for dessert, he was almost sorry that it was over, noted with amusement that he could have happily spent the rest of the night in the kitchen with the three women and not have missed the rest of the celebrating. Huh. Imagine that. Still, like a good boy, he made his way back to his spot at the table without any kind of a fuss.

When he got there, it was to find Berger shooting him a half-pleased, half-accusatory look. He couldn't quite decipher it, wasn't sure what he'd done to earn it and said so. Berger scoffed, rolled his eyes, finally said, "I knew it. Mom likes you better."

All Claude could do was splutter in response to that. The funny thing was... that sort of statement should have been slathered in bitterness, but it somehow wasn't. Berger sounded... he sounded almost maniacally gleeful about it, like it pleased him, made him happy. And knowing Berger, it just might have.

Berger persisted, poked him in the side this time for good measure, a wide smirk filling his features, "Only the best, most well-behaved kid at the table gets to be the taste-tester, the Thanksgiving favorite. It was always me before, but this year she picked you. Ergo, she likes you better."

At that, Claude snorted out a laugh, poked the other man back, "You? Most well-behaved? Please. Pull the other one, Banana-Berger."

Berger sat up as straight as he possibly could and put on his most angelic expression, "With taste-testing the Death By Chocolate at stake? Hell, yeah, I was the most well-behaved!"

Claude stared at him for a moment, finally couldn't contain the laughter any more. At Berger's mock-affronted look, he managed to get out between chuckles, "Your mother... is... _brilliant_."

At that point, Elaine arrived with dessert in hand and took her place at the table, "Why, thank you, dear. I appreciate the compliment." She then slipped him a wink. And when she started ladling out her dessert into bowls, she filled one large one and one much smaller one, gave them to Claude and Cheryl respectively.

That was when Sammy got in on the action. Pulling on a mischievous look of her own, she said, "Hey! Playing favorites _at_ the table isn't allowed! If Claude got to taste test, then George and I should get the first bowls! Those are the rules!"

Claude's eyes widened like a deer in headlights and, not wanting to be the cause of yet another scene, he made as though to push the bowl across the table towards Sammy. Elaine, however, just said quietly but calmly, "Samantha Catherine Berger." The girl immediately subsided and took on a contrite pose. "Would you argue that Claude has been the best behaved today?" When Sammy shook her head, Elaine smiled, patted her cheek, "Neither would I. As for the other, I thought we could alter tradition a little this year, being as it _is_ his and Cheryl's first Thanksgiving with the family." When Sammy gave her a broad grin and happily nodded, she smirked, "And besides... You're right. I do like him best." At that, the rest of the Bergers all started laughing.

Berger then reached over and, smirking the entire time, stole a spoonful of Claude's dessert. Claude just twitched an eyebrow and pulled the bowl back in front of him. At Berger's innocent look, he twitched again, said deadpan, "You're lucky I love you or you'd have lost a finger, just now... maybe a whole hand."

Berger's eyes widened, his mouth dropped open. After a few seconds, though, he couldn't hold the expression and dissolved into laughter, soon pulled Claude into a tight hug and planted a smacking kiss on his cheek. Claude retaliated by scooping up a finger of his dessert and smearing it deliberately on Berger's nose. Everyone at the table froze at that action, unbelieving that Claude - of all people - had done that. Berger, though, knew better... he knew _Claude_ better. Of everyone at the table, Claude would have been the _most_ likely to do something like that... before the war. Berger blinked once, twice, crossed his eyes trying to see the glob of pudding on his nose. Finally, his face cracked into another of those maniacal grins and he leaned over to nuzzle his nose against Claude's neck. Claude made a disgusted noise and pushed him away, but his eyes were practically dancing with innocent joy.

And right then and there, Berger decided that it had all been worth it. All the stress of the day, all of the pain they'd gone through earlier, it had all been worth it for this - to see Claude laughing, smiling, enjoying himself... playing with him. There was only one problem... eyeing that smear of chocolate he'd placed on Claude's neck, he had a sudden, intense desire to lick it off of him. But even he wasn't fool enough to try that. Instead, he picked up his napkin and licked a corner of it. Then he took Claude's face in his hand and turned it to the side, gently wiped the chocolate off his neck. When he was done and Claude turned back to meet his eyes, the expression resting there... G-d. Berger had waited four years to see it again, to bask in it. Such love, such warmth... He leaned forward, touched their foreheads together. Claude huffed out a small laugh, squeezed his hand under the table, murmured so quietly that only Berger could hear, "Love you, too, Sexy-Berger."

From somewhere further down the table there was a sound like a tea kettle boiling over and both men jerked around to face it. Of course, it was Sheila's father, fuming at the display they were creating. They'd forgotten about him. Before anyone else could say anything, however, Claude braced his hands on the table, pushed himself half out of his chair... and stared Mr. Franklin down where he sat. In an icy voice quite at odds with the innocent joy he'd been exuding a moment earlier he bit out, "I thought we understood each other, Mr. Franklin."

Sheila's father paled a shade, immediately subsided. Claude nodded, sat back down, and in the ensuing dead silence, looked miserably over at Berger. Berger reached out and placed a gentle hand against his lower back, started rubbing his soothing little circles. Fortunately for mood recovery, however, that was also when Cheryl finally figured out what was in the dish that had been pushed over to her... and after happily and noisily sampling it, decided to follow her beloved Claude's example and lift one pudding-coated hand to pat her mother's cheek.

Sheila whipped around to face her daughter, shock in her eyes and a half-smile on her face. Cheryl stared back for a moment, then giggled and patted her again. After another few seconds, Sheila's expression cracked into a wide grin and she grabbed the little girl into a tight hug, getting pudding and chocolate cake all over both of them in the process. No one's mood could stay sour after that and the rest of dessert passed very happily... albeit rather messily.

* * *

At her father's glowering urging, and much to the disappointment of the rest of her family, Sheila's family left shortly after dessert, leaving Berger's family behind to help clean up the mess. Honestly, in the aftermath, Claude was unsure if the day had been a resounding success... or a miserable failure.

Cheryl, at least, had had fun - that much was obvious - and was now sacked out in Sammy's arms on the couch. Then again, Sammy was pretty sacked out herself, kept listing over sideways and nodding off. Every time Berger passed by her, he would smile, softly brush her hair out of her face and then nudge her back upright. Finally, Claude took pity on the girl and walked over to take Cheryl out of her arms. She half woke up at that and made a noise of protest. He just patted her shoulder reassuringly, "You're fine, Sam. I'm just going to take her off your hands and go tuck her into bed, OK?"

Sam mumbled something in response, then immediately sagged over onto her other side. Laughing quietly so as not to wake either of them, Claude carted Cheryl off to get her changed and put to sleep. She barely even moved through the whole process. By the time Claude returned to the living room, Berger was taking the afghan off the back of the couch and tucking it around his sister. There was such tenderness in his face, such protective pride... it was a little easier to see, now, the side of him that Woof had always spoken of so wistfully - his "George" side. Walking up next to the other man, he gently bumped shoulders with him. Berger turned, smiled and leaned over to press their foreheads together.

Claude smiled in return, wrapped an arm around the other man's waist and squeezed. Berger reciprocated, sliding his own arm underneath Claude's to pull him in closer. Claude dropped his head to rest against Berger's shoulder, said quietly, "I... I wouldn't mind if she spent the night, you know." Berger's tensed beside him, only slowly relaxed. Claude hastened to explain, "She just... she looks so tired and it's a long way back to Hoboken. So... I just... I wouldn't mind, OK?"

Sighing softly, Berger turned and nuzzled into Claude's hair, "Are you sure?"

Claude raised his head, caught Berger's eyes, smiled at the slim thread of hope shining in their depths, "I'm sure. She can take the ferry home tomorrow... or you could escort her home if you wanted. Maybe... maybe you could spend more time with your family...?"

At that, Berger chuckled, brushed a butterfly soft kiss against Claude's cheek, squeezed him a little tighter, "Trying to get rid of me, Claudio?"

A fast headshake in response, "No. I'm not... I just..." Claude took in a deep breath, let it out in a frustrated noise, "You don't see them enough. They love you - really love you - and you don't see them enough." He pulled away, ran his fingers into his hair and gave it a tug, "Your sister, she looks up to you. And your parents worry about you. And you hardly ever even talk to them, because you're so busy looking out for me. It's not fair."

Berger reached out and gently pulled Claude's hands out of his hair, pulled them against his chest with one hand and slid the other around to cup the back of Claude's neck, "Claudio, what is this all of a sudden? My family... they know that I have a lot going on in my life right now. I have a job. I have my own family - you, Cheryl and Sheila - and you have to come first. They understand and accept that. It's how life goes, man. It's how life _has_ to go. Just because I don't see them every week doesn't mean I love them any less or they me. That's what being family is all about, OK?"

Claude stared at him for a few minutes, finally shrugged out of his hold and took a step away. Berger let him go, but kept a close watch. Eventually, Claude sighed, shook his head, "You're right. Of course, you're right. I just... I don't know."

Berger narrowed his eyes at him for a moment, then eventually smiled a soft, smug grin, "I know. If Mom and Dad are OK with it, Sammy can spend the night, hang out with us tomorrow and then they can come back to pick her up in the evening..." He trailed off, eyes shining, all but daring Claude to ask what he planned for when they came to pick Samantha up.

Never one to disappoint, Claude rolled his eyes, but gave him the prompt he wanted, "OK, they'll pick her up, and...?"

Walking over, Berger wrapped his arms around Claude's neck and dropped a kiss on the end of his nose before saying, "...and then we can all go watch the Tree Lighting Ceremony at Rockefeller Center!" At the sudden stillness in Claude's body, Berger leaned forward to touch their foreheads together, "You said your family used to do that, right? Well, so did mine. So I thought... maybe... if you're up for it...?"

Claude met his eyes for an endless moment, considered it, came up with and discarded about five different answers, finally said, "I... I don't know, Berger." At the disappointment in the other man's eyes, Claude sighed, "Today... today wasn't easy for me. I don't know if that might be too much, OK?"

"We don't have to decide today, you know. We can figure it out tomorrow. We've got time," was Berger's easy answer. Then, after placing a soft kiss on Claude's forehead, he backed off, went to help Sheila with the last of the dishes.

Claude watched him go, all but growled in frustration. Damn it. He just couldn't seem to do anything right, today. He raised his hands to his face, rubbed wearily at his eyes. He was just ready for the day to be over already. He needed a rest but desperately.

A moment later a deep voice spoke up from his left side, "You look pretty tired yourself, son. You don't need to stay while we finish cleaning up, you know. If you'd like to head off to bed early, none of us will take offense."

Claude sighed, shook his head. Giving his temples one final rub, he turned to face Berger's father, gave him a small shrug, "I wouldn't be able to sleep, anyway, but I appreciate the offer."

Jack smiled, "No problem." After a moment of comfortable silence, he frowned slightly, hesitantly spoke up again, "I... Son, I don't mean to interfere, but I thought I heard George suggest that we all go to the Tree Lighting at Rockefeller Center tomorrow. Did I hear that correctly?" At Claude's nod, his frown deepened, "That's what I thought. That's... hm."

Not one to miss a hint, especially one so obvious as that, Claude rolled his eyes heavenward for patience, then patiently asked, "That's _what_ , Mr. Berger?"

The two men deciphered the tone of Claude's voice at the same time and Jack abruptly shifted his eyes to look at Claude, raised an eyebrow. His eyes were practically shining with amusement. Claude at least had the decency to blush, "Sorry, sorry. Force of habit."

Jack let out a quiet guffaw, clapped a hand over his mouth before he could get too loud, then when Sammy made a mumbling noise of annoyance and shifted in her sleep, quickly motioned Claude away from the couch. Once they were a safe distance away, he reached out and patted Claude on the shoulder, "No apologies necessary. Actually, if anything, _I_ should be the one offering my apologies." At Claude's skeptical look, Jack spread his hands wide, "He is my son, isn't he?"

The corner of Claude's lips twitched at that, threatened to break into a fully fledged smile but didn't quite make it there. He cleared his throat, schooled his expression back towards neutral and shrugged, "I suppose he is. As you were saying...?"

Jack smiled, "You're a good man, Claude." After taking a moment to think, he finally said, "The Tree Lighting was never George's favorite family activity. Not by a long shot. In fact, he's a little infamous among the extended family for it." At Claude's openly surprised look, he elaborated, "Actually, it's fair to say that he has a problem with the whole idea of the Christmas Tree and he wasn't exactly shy about sharing his opinion. It started when he was about thirteen - now that I think on it, a _lot_ of his worst behavior started around then - and he suddenly refused to go with us that year to select a Christmas Tree. He said that it was hypocritical to celebrate a holiday that was all about the joy of birth by killing an innocent tree." Claude's eyebrows climbed up into his hairline at that one. Jack snorted, "Yeah, that was our reaction, too. I dismissed it that year as adolescent melodramatics, told him that if he didn't want to come with us that that was fine, but to please cut the drama. He did and I'd thought it was forgotten... until the next year came around."

Claude nodded, understanding dawning, "He brought it up again."

"He brought it up again," Jack agreed. "And that year, he went on to say that it was barbaric to drag that poor tree's corpse into the living room and dance, sing and conduct rituals around it like savages."

Claude's mouth dropped open in shock. When he finally managed to recollect himself, he said, "That's... that's a bit much even for adolescent melodramatics."

"Mm-hmm. Especially as he waited to drop that little one-liner until we were sitting at Christmas dinner... at my parents' house... with all of the extended family there," Jack said, dryly.

At that, Claude snorted out a laugh, "You have to admit, though... the timing is pure Berger."

Jack laughed, nodded his head, "Knowing the man that he's become? Yes, it most certainly is. At the time though... Claude, you have to understand, George is almost a completely different person now than he was then. Not to say that I'm not proud of the man he's become, because I am, but the man he's become bears almost no resemblance to the boy he was ten years ago. He was never quiet, but he was bright, he was creative. He was responsible, he was calm, he was reliable. He was the one we counted on to keep all the other children in line. In short, he was a parent's dream come true." His lips twitched as he finished by saying, "And then he hit puberty and became an alien."

Claude finally caved in and laughed at that. He couldn't picture it, this other Berger. Calm? Responsible? No. Not his Berger. But... wasn't this Woof's Berger? The one he'd always spoken of so wistfully? The one he'd called George? He sobered with that thought, with the feeling of guilt that immediately followed it. How far off track had they pulled him? Where might he be now, if not for the Tribe's influence?

A finger being shaken in his face abruptly brought Claude out of his musings. Jack was at the other end of the finger, a rueful smile on his face, "No, Claude. It wasn't your friends' influence that changed George into what he is now. If anything, it was their influence - and yours - that kept him from falling all the way, that allowed him to hold onto some part of himself, the part that would allow him to have what he has now... with the three of you." Seeing that Claude understood, his smile deepened.

Abruptly clapping his hands together, Jack said, "But that isn't why I brought all of this up. I brought it up to say that George apparently developed an almost... hatred for the idea of a Christmas Tree. By the next year, we caved in and just decorated the tree in the backyard and invited the family over to our home. It was better than risking the fallout of another barbaric savages discussion. The year after that, we actually bought an artificial tree, but George didn't come home for Christmas that year... and he never did again."

Feeling a pang of guilt, Claude hastened to explain, "He... he wanted to." At Jack's raised eyebrow, he blushed slightly, "That year that you bought the artificial tree, he'd have been, what? Sixteen?" Jack nodded. Claude sighed, "I thought so. I... I actually remember that. There was a blizzard and a lot of us that hadn't already left got snowed into the city. I was one of the few who'd planned to stay anyway, and I'd convinced Suzanne - Sheila's old roommate - to lend me her key. I had a bit of a cold, but I figured I would just be holed up inside anyway, so I didn't think much of it." Snorting softly, he continued, "Yeah. Well, Berger had gotten stranded in the city with everyone else when they shut the trains and the ferries down and he found out that I was here. By then, my 'little cold' had turned into the cold from hell. He actually spent the money he'd saved up for Sammy's Christmas present on medicine and food for me and ended up nursing me through that whole rotten mess, before getting sick himself. By then, Sheila was home and she managed to get us both back on our feet." He let out a small, self-deprecating laugh, "I guess we kind of set a precedent there."

Nodding in understanding, Jack said, "I'm glad, then." At Claude's confused look, he said, "I'm glad that if he wasn't with us, then he was at least with someone who loves him just as much. And I'm glad he was here for you when you needed him." Raising a hand to rest on Claude's shoulder, he squeezed lightly, "I'm glad he still has that much left in him of the boy I knew." Clearing his throat, he added quietly, "And the year after... that would have been the year you were drafted. The year we lost him."

Claude nodded, said quietly. "Yeah... It would have been. I doubt... I doubt he was sober enough to even know that Christmas happened that year."

They both fell silent, lost momentarily in a sea of useless regrets. Jack shook himself out of it first, said quietly, "Well... that certainly took a depressing turn very quickly." Before Claude could answer, though, he said, "What I originally came over here for was to offer a counter-suggestion to George's plans for tomorrow night. My wife and I, Samantha... we don't mind having a real tree in the house. In fact, we like it. So, when we come pick Sammy up tomorrow, why don't we bring the artificial tree that we bought with us? Then rather than going out to Rockefeller Center, we can have our own mini tree lighting here. That would no doubt be easier on you... and I'm sure it would make George happy. What do you say?"

Claude's lips slowly stretched into a real, unrestrained smile. He held out a hand to Berger's father who shook it warmly, "I say that sounds like a marvelous idea, Mr. Berger."

The older man laughed, clapped Claude on the shoulder again, "Please, just call me Jack. With you calling my son by our last name it's going to get way too confusing if you keep that up. Plus, it makes me feel old."

Claude readily agreed. And with the next day's plans firmly set, they walked back over to join the others. Jack gave Berger a tight hug and Sheila a kiss on the cheek, "Thank you for inviting us today. In spite of all the complications, it was wonderful to get to spend the holiday with you." Waggling his eyebrows he said, "Same time next year?"

Sheila laughed, let her head droop a little, "How about we'll see about that? This was far more exhausting than I would have thought possible."

Elaine stepped up to dole out her own hugs and kisses to the three of them. When she reached Sheila, she patted her gently on the cheek, "Dear, why do you think everyone is so eager to go somewhere else for the holidays? No one in their right mind wants to take on that level of work." At Sheila's laugh, she smiled brightly, "So, what time do you want us to come pick up Sleeping Beauty over there?"

Before Berger or Sheila could answer, Jack slipped his two cents in, "Why don't we come by around three? By then they should be well and sick of Sammy and we can collect her and be out of their hair in time for them to enjoy a quiet dinner."

Though Berger looked a tad disappointed by that suggestion, he couldn't think of a good reason to make a different one, especially as he didn't know whether Claude would be up to going to the tree lighting. He sighed, "Sure, Dad. And if you're hungry, you can always stick around and help us eat up some of the leftovers. You know. If you want."

Giving his son another tight, one-armed hug, Jack just smiled, "Sure, son. We just might end up taking you up on that." With their goodbyes accomplished, the pair then gathered up their coats and headed out.

Once they were gone, the three remaining looked at each other and let out matching sighs of relief. Sheila put a hand to her head, "Good grief. Why did we think this was a good idea?"

Berger snorted, "Hell, it _would_ have been a good idea, if-" He abruptly cut off what he'd been about to say, not wanting to start a fight.

Sheila sighed, "No, no you're right. My father..." She shook her head, reached out a hand to take one of Claude's in hers, "Claude, I'm so sorry about that. I don't know what came over him. I really don't. He's normally not that... that... _mean_."

Claude pulled her close and placed a soft kiss on her forehead, "It's not your fault, Sheila. You couldn't know. And I think... I think it wasn't entirely directed at me. I recognize some of the strain between he and your brother, so I don't think it was me he was really angry at. I was just a far too convenient target."

Berger stepped closer, wrapped his arms around both of them, "It doesn't matter, though, does it? Most of the day was a resounding success. And for what it's worth, Sheila... I do like the rest of your family. Your mom's kind of cute, even if she is a little stiff. Your sister's great, even though I can't believe she's the same one as that scrawny little tomboy that I met when I was sixteen. And your brother and his wife... well, there's potential there. All in all, not too shabby. So your dad got cranky." He shrugged, "So does Cheryl when she doesn't get her naps in. If that's the worst we have to deal with... we'll deal."

Sheila stared up at him for a minute, finally dissolved into giggles, "Only you, Berger, would describe what my father did today as 'being cranky.'" Reaching up to press her lips to his in a soft kiss, she said, "But I appreciate it just the same."

They shared a soft, loving look for a moment before turning to look at Claude. Berger leaned over to nuzzle his neck, "So, what do you say, Claudio? Willing to try for two nights in a row?"

Claude took in a deep breath, let it out in a heavy sigh. After taking a moment to think it through, he said, "Well, as you said, if Sheila's father's tantrum was the worst penalty I suffered for sleeping in a bed last night, then... yeah. Yeah, I think I'm willing to give it a second try. I'm not making any promises that I'll stay there... but I'll try."

Berger smiled, pulled them both tighter up against him, and in a voice roughened with emotion, said, "That's all I can ask." In total happy communion, they then filed into the bedroom to go to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:1**
> 
> Interesting facts **and** chibi silliness! Bet you didn't think you were getting a two-fer! ;D
> 
> **Interesting Fact:** So, about Berger's Christmas Tree rants... you may get the feeling from all of this protesting and ranting that I have a major problem with the idea of a Christmas Tree. I don't. Hell, I'm not even Christian. O_o;;; Regardless, my issue isn't with the idea of a "real" tree. (Though, I do find it ironic that to celebrate life, one chops down a tree. That never made much sense to me, but I digress...) My issue is, as much as I love the pomp and majesty of the NYC tree lighting, every year they chop down a tree that's likely been growing for decades just to display it for a month. At least now they recycle it. My question, though, is why can't we just *gasp* _grow a tree_ in Rockefeller Center and decorate it every year? Then with each passing year it will only get larger and more impressive. Doesn't that seem intuitively obvious? *sweatdrop* Maybe I'm just odd.
> 
> Anyway, a few interesting things about Christmas trees... It's actually _more_ environmentally, socially and economically conscious to have a real tree in your home than to buy an artificial tree. Interesting, no? ^_^ Allow me to elaborate (facts taken from Rene McKay's December 2010 "The Monthly" newsletter):  
>  1) North American real trees are grown in NY and Canada. 85% of artificial trees are manufactured in China.  
> 2) Real Christmas trees are a renewable, recyclable resource. Artificial trees contain non-biodegradable plastics.  
> 3) For ever real Christmas tree harvested, up to 3 seedlings are planted in its place the following spring.  
> 4) There are about 500,000 acres in production for growing Christmas trees. Each acre provides the daily oxygen requirement of 18 people.  
> 5) There are about 21,000 Christmas tree growers in North America and over 100,000 people are employed part- or full-time by that industry.
> 
> The punch line? Don't listen to Berger. Get a real tree! ^_^
> 
> **And now for the chibi-silliness!**
> 
> Claude: It's about time you let me talk, again!
> 
> R-chan: *sweatdrop* You've been talking through the whole fic! What's your problem?
> 
> Claude: *twitch* I meant _after_ the fic. Afraid of what I might have to say?
> 
> R-chan: Nooooo. I've just been really tired and I haven't felt well. *huge wobble eyes* *large sniffle for good measure*
> 
> Claude: O_O Oh... Well... *sweats*
> 
> Berger: Claudio, what's the problem, man? I thought you were gonna tell her off for the last chapter?
> 
> Claude: *leans over, whispers* I know, but... but... There's something about those eyes... Doesn't she look sort of adorably pathetic?
> 
> Nuriko: *howls* Don't fall for it! It's just an act! She's only lulling you into a false sense of security. You'll regret it later!
> 
> Tasuki: *claps a hand over Nuriko's mouth and hauls him backwards* Eh-heh... Don't pay any attention to him, guys. Really... just don't.
> 
> Claude: *twitch* *edges away, drags Berger along with him*
> 
> R-chan: *evil smirk*
> 
> _Questions, comments, apricots?_


	9. Death and Rebirth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Sheila and Sammy are out hunting up holiday bargains, Claude and Berger finally start to get to the bottom of what's wrong and what needs to be done to fix it. And Berger doesn't like what he hears. Fortunately, unbeknownst to him, his parents are on the way with a little bit of holiday cheer to pick him back up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _December 13, 2010:_** I am _so_ sorry about the wait. I don't even have a really good excuse. *sigh* I was just feeling crappy and unproductive and never got around to HTMLing this last part. :-P Forgive me?

That night went far better than the one before it had. Claude seemed to have figured out a trick to get himself to fall asleep - and all that food and the fact that he was already exhausted almost certainly helped - so Berger was able to sleep, too. It was a little strange, sleeping in the middle of the bed rather than on the outside, but Berger couldn't honestly say that he minded much. If Claude never felt up to reclaiming his old spot, if he needed to continue to sleep towards the edge of the bed, well... if that was the only consequence to come out of this whole mess, then it was one that Berger could easily live with.

He woke the next morning to the feel of Claude's head still resting warmly over his heart and his nimble fingers tracing mindless patterns across his chest and stomach. Once Berger awoke, however, the fingers stopped their mindless tracing and the head shifted to rest against his shoulder, instead... but he didn't pull away. Taking all of this as a positive sign, Berger let his arm gently close around Claude's body, pulled him a little closer. Claude went easily, even going so far as to ease his left leg over Berger's.

Berger let out a small moan, finally pried his eyes open to see Claude smirking at him from the safety of his shoulder. Those eyes were dancing a little as though patiently waiting for something and Berger almost laughed. Obligingly, he leaned over and kissed Claude's nose, sleepily murmured, "Good morning, starshine."

Sure enough, the other man let out a soft huff of laughter, happily answered back, "Good morning, yourself." Honestly, if Claude really thought that Berger still thought he was irritated by that morning greeting... Well, whatever the case. Even though he knew it no longer bothered the other man, it was still something that was _theirs_. It was something untouched, unsullied. He wasn't letting go of it without a damned good reason.

He rolled over onto his side to face Claude, tentatively slid his own free leg over Claude's so they were well and truly tangled together. It was risky, what he was doing. Claude couldn't be doing as well as it looked like he was, Berger knew it. Any minute now, he was going to freak out, pull away... After a minute, Berger became aware that he wasn't doing either. Berger's breath caught, his heart began to pound with a joy so fierce it was almost pain. He picked up his right arm, wrapped it around Claude, too. He hadn't dared, hadn't wanted to risk... damn it, it really had been too long.

Claude tucked his head under Berger's chin, let out a heavy sigh. After a few minutes with nothing untoward happening, Berger felt Claude slide his own left hand up and over Berger's hip and slowly up his side and around until it rested softly against Berger's back, became an aid to pull them closer together. They laid there like that, gently entwined with each other, for another ten minutes. And Berger didn't even feel a vague need to take it any farther than that. He'd started to reach the point where he was afraid he'd never even get this much intimacy from Claude ever again, so, he really didn't care. He'd just take this and be grateful for it.

They were both aware of the moment when Sheila awoke on Berger's other side, slowly shifted to face the two of them. Berger heard her breath catch from behind him, almost willed her to go back to sleep, to not ruin this moment. But Claude heard her, too, had probably been aware of her waking even before Berger had. The arm that Claude had wrapped around him gently lifted off his back, began to stretch towards Sheila. Sheila took that questing hand into her own, brought it to her lips for a soft kiss, said wonderingly, "You two are so beautiful together..."

Claude huffed out a soft laugh as he turned that hand to rest against her cheek, said sleepily, "I thought that was my line."

Sheila pressed herself against Berger's back, draped her own arm over him to rest her hand on Claude's hip. And if Berger thought the joy he'd felt before had been almost like pain... G-d, he didn't even have words to describe this. To his eternal embarrassment, he felt a single tear leak from his left eye, moved hastily to wipe it into his pillow before it could be noticed. But of course... of course Claude noticed it. When Berger turned his head back, the other man leaned forward, placed a butterfly kiss against that spot where the tear had been. In response, Berger let out a wet little laugh that felt more like a sob than any laugh had a right to.

Sheila pressed her face into his back and tightened her arm around him when she heard that sound. He could even hear her making soft, almost unheard 'shushing' noises. Claude leaned in again and Berger obligingly tilted his head as though to touch foreheads with the other man, but that wasn't what he was after. Tilting his own head, he leaned in further still, let his lips brush softly against the corner of Berger's. They lingered there for a moment, two moments, an infinity of moments, before shifting to the side, settling soft and warm over Berger's lips. And for just a moment, Berger had absolutely no idea what to do next. It was like he was suddenly fourteen, experiencing his first kiss all over again. That was truly what this felt like - a first kiss. And in a way... it was. Before he could get his mind to unlock, however, he could feel a soft tremble start in the muscles of Claude's back - thanks to Berger's hesitancy or just the import of what Claude was doing, he had no idea, but it was enough to jolt him out of his paralysis. Even as his hands shifted, started to rub soothing circles around Claude's back, he softened his lips, gently moved them against Claude's, asked for more, but didn't demand.

He could feel it, too, the internal struggle Claude was having. Finally, those tense muscles relaxed again and he pressed closer against Berger to pursue that kiss, made a small needy moan in the back of his throat that shot straight through Berger like an arrow. But Berger wasn't stupid. Claude wasn't ready for more than this. He could feel it in those same muscles as they tightened again under his hands. So he soothed rather than inflamed, kept that kiss as tender, as easy as Claude would allow him to.

Claude wasn't stupid either. He got the hint, reigned in his own impulses after a minute. Eventually, he released Berger's lips, went back to nuzzling against his neck instead, and Berger breathed a silent sigh of relief. He wanted more, _G-d_ he wanted more, but he didn't want to traumatize Claude to get it, didn't want to push the other man too far out of his comfort zone. The repercussions on that would carry a higher price than he could easily pay.

Shortly thereafter, the baby monitor let out an unhappy cry and Sheila let out an answering groan. Claude slowly pulled away from them, made as though to get out of the bed, "I... I'll go get her."

Before he could get too far, however, Berger pulled him back, "Not so fast, Claudio. She can wait another few seconds." And she could - he recognized the cry. It wasn't an unhappy cry, it was a complaint cry. That could definitely wait the minute or two that this would take.

Claude hesitated, resisted for a moment, before allowing Berger to pull them back together. He waited as Berger stared into his eyes, rubbed warm hands against his lower back, finally let out an irritated huff, "Did you want something, Banana-Berger?"

Berger just smiled, leaned forward to steal another light, easy kiss. When Claude reacted by merely lifting an eyebrow in query, Berger's smile widened even further, "Sorry. Sorry. I've been waiting for that for a long time. Just wanted to make sure I wasn't dreaming."

Sheila let out a soft laugh from behind him, "You know... you're supposed to pinch yourself to make sure you're awake, not kiss someone."

Letting Claude go, Berger turned his head to face Sheila, waggled his eyebrows provocatively, "You know... _you_ could pinch me... Sheila-bear."

Sheila stared at him, mouth dropping open in surprise, before she moaned and buried her face in his shoulder. A moment later, she let out an almost pained sounding giggle, "Oh G-d... you heard that, didn't you?"

Claude propped himself up on his elbow, stared down at Sheila with an unsure but game smile on his face, "Sheila-bear? That's new."

Sheila shook her head, smacked Berger on the shoulder for good measure before explaining, "No, it's actually not. It's my brother's old nickname for me and he was overusing it last night. And it's not one I want to put back into steady rotation, if you both don't mind." Seeing the evil looks the two immediately shared, she flopped back against the bed, covered her face with her hands and whimpered, "Oh, why the hell do I even bother?"

Claude just laughed, finally untangled himself from Berger and climbed out of bed, "I'll leave you two to fight it out, then, while I go deal with our daughter."

It wasn't until a good minute later, when Berger became aware of Sheila worriedly shaking his shoulder and asking if he was alright, that he realized that at those last words, his mouth had dropped open and he'd frozen in place, as though he didn't dare move. When he came out of it, he immediately flopped over to face Sheila and crushed her to him, buried his face in her chest, "I must be dreaming. I must be. He... he said..."

Sheila rocked him against her, gently shushed him, "I know, baby. I heard it, too. 'Our daughter.' It's the first time he's called her that... isn't it?"

Berger looked up, met eyes as shining and watery as his own, then leaned in to claim a kiss. When they pulled away from each other again, Berger couldn't keep the wide grin off his face, "I can't explain it and I don't even want to try. I'm just happy. It's a damned good morning, Sheila. Don't you agree?"

Sheila kissed the end of his nose with a laugh, "It _is_ , baby. It really is." Sitting upright, she smiled down at him, "In fact, it's _such_ a good morning, that I think I'll make chocolate chip pancakes. What do you say?"

Berger laughed, "I say that's A-OK with me... since Cheryl's not old enough to manage the syrup bottle." Though intended as a joke, that last had a sobering effect on the pair. Berger sighed, "Yeah... maybe we should call her later. See how she's doing. I... I haven't been by to see them in... Jesus. Since Claude came home with us."

Sheila shifted, gave Berger room to sit up, then placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, "We'll figure it out, baby. If this improvement is real and continues at this kind of a rate... maybe we'll be able to tell everyone by Christmas. Wouldn't that make a wonderful present?"

Slowly smiling, Berger reached out and pulled Sheila into a hug, "Yeah... it really would."

Sheila gave him another quick kiss, then got up, "So, why don't I start the pancakes and you see about waking your sister, hm?"

If Sheila hadn't recognized the maniacal grin that immediately filled his features as one that she'd seen before - having an older brother of her own - she'd have been worried. As it was, she just rolled her eyes and left the room. Behind her, Berger rubbed his hands together and gave an evil laugh, "Wake my sister, indeed... let the games begin!"

* * *

Later that morning, Sheila had suggested that Berger's sister might enjoy going out holiday bargain shopping with her and Cheryl. Sammy, just as enamored of a good bargain hunt as the next woman and equally as enamored with her new "big sister," eagerly agreed. Berger had hesitated, thought to protest for a moment, then had looked at Claude. He was definitely looking a little strained around the edges. Some time alone with Berger would probably do him good.

Once the women had left, Berger could almost see it as the tension ran out of him and breathed his own sigh of relief at having made the right choice. And when he wandered over to the couch to settle down for a while, Claude eagerly followed, curled up against him. For just a moment, it felt like old times: Sheila, off with the girls on some quest or other, he and Claude happily stealing the opportunity to cuddle in her apartment while she was gone. It was nice. It was nice just to have Claude so relaxed beside him. Taking a gigantic risk by calling attention to it, he even said so.

Claude tensed for a moment, then sighed. Eventually, he answered, "I... Berger... There's something..." With a short growl of frustration, he sat up, pulled away.

Berger just let him go, a worried frown on his face, "What is it, Claude? This... it's a good thing. It means you're getting better."

Shaking his head, Claude got up from the couch, started his ten step pace back and forth in front of him. After a few trips, he paused, clenched his fists and turned back to face Berger, "There's something I need to tell you about this... 'getting better.' And I'm not sure you'll like it."

Berger sat up straighter on the couch, held out a hand to the other man. When Claude approached, almost wild-shy like he'd been in the beginning, Berger just waited patiently until he got over it enough to reach out and take his hand. Quietly, he answered, "If it's getting you better, whatever it is, I'll learn to love it, OK? Just tell me."

Claude sighed, slumped, "I... The last couple of nights when you were asleep... I've been calling Dr. Howard." At Berger's frown, he winced, "See? I knew you wouldn't like it."

Berger rubbed his free hand against his forehead, tried to process what Claude had just said, "OK. So, you called Dr. Howard. Why?"

Claude shrugged, eyed Berger nervously before answering, "I... Just to talk. He said... He said if I ever needed to talk, needed help, I could call him. So, I did." At Berger's continued frown, he hastened to explain, "Berger, I'm not getting better, not really. I wish I could say that I was, that things were getting easier, but they're _not_. If anything, they're getting harder."

Berger squeezed his hand, interrupted the flow of words almost desperately, "But what about this morning? You... Jesus, Claudio, for a few minutes, you were almost back to normal."

Shaking his head miserably, Claude said, "No. Berger, I wasn't. I have moments - a few minutes, like you said - when things are OK, but they pass. My reactions, the level of stress I live with on a daily basis... it's not normal." Folding back down onto the couch next to Berger, Claude added, "As long as I'm here, in this apartment, with one of you, I'm OK. But, with each passing day, I'm a little more afraid to go outside. That's not getting better. Berger, it's getting _worse_." He drooped, pressed his head into Berger's shoulder, "I want you to help. _G-d_ , I can't tell you how much I want that, for it to be you... but Berger, I don't think it can be. All those months ago, Dr. Howard said I depended on you too much, that it wasn't healthy." Raising miserable eyes to meet Berger's just as miserable ones, he finished, "He was right. I just couldn't see it until I was around you all the time."

Berger dropped his hand, got up from the couch and stumbled away a few steps, finally hoarsely got out, "So... it's my fault that you're not getting any better?"

"No," was the emphatic response. Claude got up from the couch, put his hands on Berger's shoulders and spun the other man to face him, gave him a firm shake for good measure, "It is _not_ your fault that I'm not getting better. It's _mine_. Berger, you've done everything right from minute one with me. You... Jesus, Banana-Berger, you worked a fucking miracle and you know it. But I've been abusing that, using you like a crutch these last few weeks. I can't keep doing that or I'll never be able to stand on my own." Taking a deep breath, he said, "I think... I think maybe Dr. Howard could help. I think... I think maybe just getting out of the apartment on my own for a few hours a week will help." At Berger's miserable look, his tone turned pleading, "Berger, I don't _know_. All I know is that I want to wake up tomorrow morning to find out that we're all in Canada and this was just one fucking horrific nightmare. But that can't happen, because it _wasn't_. It was real. Every. Fucking. Minute. Of it." He was breathing harder now, eyes wide, and he punctuated each of those last words with a little shake.

Dropping his head forward onto Berger's chest, Claude let out a little whimper, "In fact, it's _too_ real and sometimes it's all I can see, like it's a barricade between me and everything else. Berger... I can't get past it on my own. I need help. And whether I like it or not, whether _you_ like it or not... Dr. Howard's all I've got. OK?"

Berger wrapped his arms around Claude, pulled him close against him. After a few minutes of trying to get his throat to work, he managed to say, "OK. OK. If... If that's what you need, then OK. Like I said... whatever it takes, Claudio. I want you better. And my pride can take it if I'm not the one who makes it happen. In the end, as long as you're better... as long as you're _happy_ , I don't care. Is that good enough?"

Claude let out a watery little laugh, finally lifted his head to meet Berger's gaze again, "Yeah, Banana-Berger. That's plenty good enough."

"Good." Berger leaned forward, pressed a soft kiss against Claude's forehead, "Then that's good enough for me, too." Sighing heavily, he added plaintively, "Now, can we please do something completely unstrenuous for the next few hours until my parents get here?"

Claude readily agreed to that and they spent the next few hours numbing their brains on afternoon television. And Claude was even good enough to say nothing when Berger fell asleep, sprawled on top of him on the couch. He just pulled the afghan down off the back, draped it across the other man and cradled him close as he slept.

* * *

Sammy was the first to the door when three o'clock rolled around. Full of happy exuberance, she flung it open and threw her arms around her mother's neck, "Mom, you are not going to be _lieve_ the awesome day I've had! Sheila knows where _all_ the good stores are in the city and she has the keenest fashion sense. You are going to _love_ the stuff I got!" Leaning back with a wicked grin, she added, "I even picked up a couple of things for you guys!" Then, just like any other teenager and child on the planet, seeing the large box that her father held in his hands, she was immediately diverted from thoughts of presents she'd bought by thoughts of presents she might receive, "Ooooo... And what is _that_? Is for Cheryl? Is it for _me_?"

Elaine quickly covered her daughter's mouth with her hand to shush her, "Sammy! For goodness' sakes be quiet, OK? It's a surprise." Turning her around, she then gave her daughter a playful swat on the behind, "Go keep your brother occupied for a while for us while we set it up, would you?"

Though she paused to stick her tongue out at her mother, Sammy did at least do what had been asked of her. As she scampered off, Claude walked over carrying Cheryl. The little girl let out a happy squeal when she saw Elaine, immediately started reaching her hands out and babbling, "Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma!"

Elaine obligingly took the little girl off of Claude's hands and gave her a squeeze, "So, tell me, little one... if your mom is 'ma-ma-ma', then does me being 'ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma' make me your great grandmother? I'm not sure I'm OK with that assumption."

The girl just giggled and started tugging on Elaine's ponytail. Claude smiled, shook his head, "I think it just means she's excited to see you and that's currently her favorite syllable. If that makes you feel any better, that is."

Elaine laughed, patted Claude's cheek as she moved past him, "Not entirely, but you're a dear for saying so, anyway, Claude. Thank you."

Once she'd migrated further into the living room, Claude raised an eyebrow at Berger's father, "Would you like a hand with that?"

Jack let out a sigh of relief, "Good Lord, would I. You have no idea how much of a pain it's been carting this thing from New Jersey. If I'd realized how much trouble it was going to be, I'd have risked the city driving and brought it in the car."

Claude obligingly took one end of the box, helped Jack carry it to the spot he'd decided would make a good location for a Christmas Tree. It was a corner of the living room which normally held a small curio table on which they dumped the mail before it could be sorted. Claude had relocated it over towards the front door - where it ironically made more sense for it to be located, anyway - to make room. The table normally sat in this natural little alcove that would be perfect placement for a tree. As they set the box down on the floor and started quickly and efficiently unpacking what was inside it, Claude paused to muse, "I wonder what Sammy found to keep him occupied with that's actually keeping him in the bedroom? Normally he'd be out here already just on the suspicion that something might be going on that he'd want to be a part of."

Before Jack even had a chance to answer, they all heard Berger yell out, "Sam! Come on! How the hell many shirts did you _buy_?"

They missed Samantha's answer to that question, but not Berger's whimpered, "Oh, you've got to be kidding me. And you have to model _all_ of them for me?"

After another pause for Sam's quiet response, Berger groaned loudly, "Oh, come on... Sheila, you did not buy some for me, too! And... what the hell is that, anyway? I thought we'd been through this? I hate yellow!"

Elaine coughed quickly to hide her giggling, then rapidly stood, Cheryl in hand, to head towards the bedroom. At the other two's raised eyebrows, she said mildly, "Firstly, if there is going to be clothing modeling, then I want to be involved, especially if they bully George into participating. Secondly, I think I'd better put a hand on this situation before dear Samantha manages to goad her brother into a real fight. I think that might be in all of our best interests."

The two men laughed, quickly waved her on, then went back to unpacking the tree. Once they had it all out, Claude spread the tree skirt out on the floor in the corner - not that he expected to need it for an artificial tree, but for the image... well, it would make it look more real. Jack pulled out the instructions, then smirked over at Claude, "What do you say? Instructions or no instructions?"

Claude lifted an eyebrow, amused by how much Jack resembled his son in that moment. Wryly, he answered, "Well, Jack, we have an extremely finite amount of time in which to get this accomplished before Berger gets fed up with the girls and I don't have a hell of a lot of pride left to wound."

Jack sighed but spread out the pages nonetheless, "Instructions, it is." They poured over the pages for a moment, then mildly began to twitch when they realized how complicated the instruction sheets were trying to make the assembly seem. It could _not_ be that complicated. It was essentially just a long pole with other skinnier poles stuck into it at different heights and angles. How the hell hard could it be to figure out? Almost as one, they both pushed the instruction sheets out of the way and reached for the parts of the tree to start putting it together.

It took them twenty minutes and a few redo attempts, but somehow they got it done, even managed to get the lights wrapped around it and ready to go. As they stood back to admire their work, Jack casually dropped an arm around Claude's shoulders, pulled him close in a one-armed hug that seemed like a habitual action on his part. And for just a moment, Claude froze, unsure of how to respond. It was a completely reflexive gesture, one that Berger's father surely hadn't thought about, one he'd doubtless enacted with Berger multiple times in the past. It was a gesture of accomplishment, a gesture of pride in a task well done, a gesture of camaraderie... a father's gesture. And it made the breath momentarily catch in Claude's throat when he realized that it was one that his own father had never shared with him.

Rather than release him from that one-armed hug as he tensed, however, Berger's father just squeezed him again, "We did good here, son. I'm sure George will love it." Letting Claude go with one final pat, Jack smiled at him, "You're not bad with your hands, Claude. I'll admit to being a bit impressed. George... well, let's just say he's a bit useless when it comes to putting things together. He's more adept at taking them apart."

That last startled Claude out of his frozen moment, back into amusement. With a quiet laugh, he said, "Yeah... I think I could see that." The two men shared a smile of pure understanding. After a moment, Claude cleared his throat, "I suppose we ought to go rescue him from the women, shouldn't we?"

Berger's father laughed, waggled his eyebrows in yet another gesture reminiscent of his son, "Oh... I don't know. I think we ought to let him suffer for a while."

They stared at each other for a moment, then Claude let out another huff of a laugh, "No... I don't think I'm that mean."

"Well, that makes one of us," was Jack's tart answer.

Still laughing, Claude made his way to the bedroom, peered around the door to see inside. The sight that met his eyes would have been pathetic if it hadn't been so ludicrous. Berger had a white shirt on, halfway buttoned, with one tail tucked into his jeans. His mother was holding a red sweater up in front of him on his left and Sheila was holding a green one up on his right. Samantha was digging through a pile on the bed to find another one that she swore was in there somewhere. Berger's eyes landed on Claude with a gleam of sincere relief, "Claudio! Help! I need rescuing from these three insanos! I haven't even gotten a chance to say hello to my dad, yet!"

Claude laughed, walked over to pat Berger on the shoulder, "Poor Karma-Berger. Let's see what I can do about that, OK?" He turned to Sheila, ready to ask her to let Berger go, when he happened to get a better look at the sweater in her hands. It was a rich forest green and looked like it would be so very soft to the touch. If she'd found it at one of the thrift stores, Claude was impressed. Seeing him looking, she held it up to him. He reached out a hand, ran it down the sweater. It felt as soft as it looked. And that rich, green color... He took it from Sheila, held it up towards Berger's face so he could see it next to the man's eyes. Sure enough, it was a perfect match. Quietly he said, "Berger... would you...?"

Berger sighed, rolled his eyes once for good measure, but he could never really deny Claude anything. That much hadn't changed. Then again, Claude supposed that was fair. He couldn't really say no to Berger, either. He reached out, helped Berger do up the last of his buttons, then stepped back as Berger tucked the shirt the rest of the way into his jeans and reached for the sweater to pull it on over his head. Once he had it settled in place, Claude couldn't help the soft smile that spread across his features. He'd been right. That sweater looked like it had been designed with Berger in mind.

Sheila moved closer to Claude, wrapped an arm around his waist and leaned her head against his shoulder, "Claude... It's perfect. You've got a good eye."

Claude shrugged, offered Berger a sheepish grin, "Only because Sexy-Berger here is my subject of choice."

Berger rolled his eyes, but in spite of that show, Claude could easily see how pleased he'd made the other man with the comment and his and Sheila's obvious appreciation. He stepped forward, joined them in a group hug, smirked at them both, "Never thought I'd get this kind of reaction out of you two by putting on _more_ clothes. What kind of messed up shit is _that_?"

Now it was Sheila's turn to roll her eyes as she smacked Berger lightly on the back of the head. Berger made an exaggerated "ow" face and rubbed the back of his head, sniffled melodramatically. Claude couldn't help it. He started to laugh. When he got himself back under control, he said quietly, "So... if you guys are done in here for a moment, I could use you out in the living room."

Berger raised an eyebrow at him, clearly having caught on that something was going on, but willing to hold off on the questions for now. Elaine just smiled softly at him, eagerness in her eyes. Sheila retrieved Cheryl from Samantha, then brought both girls back over to join them. Claude smiled, waved them out into the living room.

The minute they emerged from the bedroom, Claude nudged Berger to face the alcove where they'd placed the tree. The other man stared for a moment, blinked a few times, obviously having a momentary processing failure. Not one to waste a speechless-Berger moment, Claude hastily nodded at Jack who obligingly flipped the switch on the Christmas lights, setting the tree aglow with soft reds, blues, greens and yellows.

Berger just continued to stare at the tree, completely mesmerized, mouth dropped open with awe. Claude stepped up behind him, wrapped his arms around him and hooked his chin over the other man's shoulder. He spoke quietly into Berger's ear, "I spoke to your father last night, told him my concerns about going to Rockefeller Center. This was his idea, to have our own mini tree lighting ceremony at the apartment." He could feel it against his cheek as Berger swallowed hard, mutely shook his head.

Claude continued, "He also told me how you feel about having a live tree in the house." Berger nodded, almost frantically, Claude noted, "Well, I know you remember our first Christmas together. You... you told me about it that first night in the hospital. I remember..." Claude shuddered slightly, cleared his throat to cover his discomfort with that memory, "Anyway, apparently your father and mother bought an artificial tree that year so that you could all enjoy the holiday tradition without undue stress on anyone's part." At that, Berger actually managed to snort out half an amused laugh. Claude smiled right along with him, "But now... since your family doesn't mind having a real tree, your father thought it would be nice for us to have this one. That way we could enjoy that tradition, too."

Berger swallowed hard again, opened his mouth to speak. He seemed embarrassed when nothing came out, cleared his throat and tried again. On the third try, he finally got his voice to emerge, roughened by emotion, but strong, "I... I don't know what to say."

Elaine stepped up to her son's side, placed a soft kiss against his cheek, "Say 'Thank you,' George."

Berger huffed out a laugh, turned to wrap an arm around his mother and pull her close for a hug, "Thank you, George."

That got everyone else laughing, added a touch of humor to a moment that had gotten unexpectedly heavy. Elaine beamed a gentle smile at her son, then at Jack's nod, turned to retrieve her bag from the couch. When she came back, she offered her son a soft smile, "I know it isn't even close to Christmas yet, but Jack and I do have gifts for the four of you, if you don't mind opening a few early...?"

At Berger's eager headshake and upturned hands, they all laughed again. Elaine just rolled her eyes at her son and started pulling out brightly wrapped packages, one each for Berger, Claude, Sheila and Cheryl. At Samantha's woeful look, she gave the girl a gentle hug, "Yours is still at home, sweetheart. You can open it when we get back, if you like." She sighed but nodded in agreement, not wanting to be the one to ruin the moment.

As Claude moved away from Berger to start gently opening his own present, he was surprised to note a mild shake in his hands. This... it was so unexpected, so very Elaine, and he couldn't help the wistful thought that emerged in the wake of that one - he wished that his family had been more like Berger's. He wished it with a passion. If they had, he might not have... he might not have... he might not have a lot of things.

After a moment, he became aware that the others were all watching him, waiting to open their own gifts until he'd opened his. Though caught again at that sign of caring and interest, this time Claude forced himself past it, continued opening the wrapping. Once he had it open, he set the paper aside and pulled open the box to reveal a nest of tissue paper. Pulling that aside and gently removing what was nestled inside it, Claude's breath caught. It was an ornament. And it was beautiful.

Berger stepped up behind him, wrapped his arms around him in the mirror to the pose Claude had assumed behind him just a few moments ago. Looking over his shoulder, Berger reached out a hand to lightly touch the ornament. He smiled, nuzzled his nose into Claude's neck before turning to look at his mother, eyes practically glowing with joy, "It's perfect, Mom. I love it."

The ornament was in the style of a snow globe with fluffy white flakes shivering eagerly inside it, as though begging him to give them a shake. He couldn't reign in the impulse to do so, gave the globe a gentle swirl. And through the white flurries, he could still make out the landmarks... Westminster Abby, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace - all of London in the palm of his hand. It wasn't Manchester, but it still reminded him of simpler days, happier days... days when he hadn't been so broken.

Berger's happy yell of, "My turn!" nearly into his ear, brought him abruptly out of his melancholy musing and Claude turned obligingly to watch the other man tear the paper from his own gift. Sure enough, his present was also inside an ornament-sized box. He smiled broadly, pulled open the box and tossed the tissue paper aside. And when he looked inside it... he froze again, stock-still like he had when he'd seen the tree. His eyes went round and shocked, whites showing all the way around. He then immediately turned to his mother and tried to push the box at her, blurted out almost hysterically, "I can't take this!"

Elaine smiled, shook her head, "You most certainly can, George."

Eyes still wide in inexplicable distress, Berger said plaintively, "But... but it's your favorite. It was your _father's_. I... I can't take it."

Elaine shook her head, walked over to pull her son into a gentle embrace, rocked him against her for a moment. When he calmed, she stepped back, cupped his face in her hands, "George... you never really had the chance to know your grandfather. You were too young when he died. So, please take my word for it when I tell you this. He'd have been unbelievably proud of the man you've become and he'd want you to have it. It's more appropriate than you know."

Finally subsiding, Berger took a deep breath, let it out on a shaky little laugh, "Fine. But if I break it... it's on your head."

Jack just rolled his eyes as he stepped up to join the conversation, "Believe me, George, you and your sister sure tried hard enough when you were kids and neither of you managed it. If you couldn't break him then, I doubt you'll break him now. So, don't worry about it."

With those words as reassurance, Berger finally pulled the ornament from its box. It was a knight - a gleaming knight in shining, white armor, sword and shield held up at the ready. Claude couldn't help but smile. Elaine was right. That ornament was more appropriate for Berger than he knew. After all... he'd been Claude's knight in shining armor all along, saving him from himself when nothing else could. But Berger wasn't the kind of guy who could accept that kind of praise, wouldn't be comfortable with that sort of acknowledgement, no matter how much he deserved it.

By then they'd all figured out the pattern and eagerly looked towards Sheila to reveal her ornament. When she opened her own, she let out a laughing little groan, "Ber _gerrrrr_..." The younger man blinked innocently at her as though to ask what it was that he'd done to deserve that tone of voice. It wasn't until Sheila pulled out her own ornament that he understood and, through his laughter, hastened to explain that he hadn't had anything to do with it. Claude leaned over to peer at the ceramic figurine and when he saw what it was, he too started to smile.

Sheila's ornament was an intricately detailed and painted black bear, hovering protectively over three small cubs. It captured Sheila's essence to a tee. Knowing that that was the case, Elaine looked a little perturbed at Sheila's reaction. Before she could get too upset, however, Sheila sighed and said, "It's not the ornament, Elaine. Truthfully, I love it - it's beautiful. It's what I thought it represented." At Elaine's raised eyebrow, she said dryly, "My brother Roger used to call me 'Sheila-bear' when I was younger... and that nickname crops up again and again at the most inopportune and embarrassing times." Nodding her head towards Berger, she added, "And your son caught him using it yesterday, so I just assumed..." She shrugged.

Elaine laughed, "I can certainly see how that would prompt that reaction, then. No offense taken... Sheila-bear."

At that, Sheila rolled her eyes again and Claude could see her fighting to reign in the impulse to smack Elaine like she wouldn't have hesitated to do to her son. Berger quickly held up the fourth package, the one meant for Cheryl, to provide a distraction. He turned around in a circle holding the box as though to ask who wanted to open it, then seemed to think better of it and wordlessly handed it to Claude. Seeing Sheila nodding her head in silent agreement at the action, Claude knew better than to argue. If he couldn't say no to Berger alone, trying to say no to the pair of them working in tandem was beyond a lost cause.

Claude gently lifted Cheryl from where she'd been sitting on the floor and playing with the discarded wrapping paper, moved to sit on the couch with the girl settled in his lap. He let her assist in pulling off the paper, smiled when she flung it off with just as much wild abandon as her father had. Once the box was thoroughly unpapered, he gently pulled it from her hands and opened it. Nestled in the tissue paper was a small crystal ornament in the shape of a tiny angel. And at the base of the figurine, Cheryl's name was etched into the crystal, along with her date of birth - a date that was doubly significant in this family, also being the day that Berger had found Claude.

Berger and Sheila settled on either side of them on the sofa, enfolded the pair in a warm embrace. Berger smiled softly, "Mom... Dad... you guys did good. You did _real_ good." At Claude's curious look, Berger explained, "Samantha and I have ones just like this one for my parents' tree, so do all of our cousins for _their_ parents' trees.. For that matter, so do my parents. The angel ornaments always stay with the parents of the kids they belong to, even when the kids move out, that way a part of them will always be home for Christmas, no matter where they are. It's a family tradition."

Claude smiled, pressed a kiss to the top of Cheryl's head, "I think that's a tradition I can fully support."

Elaine gave the four of them a soft, proud look, "I'm glad you like them. Now... I know they're not much to fill a whole tree with, but we figured that since you do _have_ a tree, this would at least get you started. So what do you say? You ready to put them on the tree or did you want to wait until December 1st?"

Claude, Berger and Sheila looked at each other, had a moment of silent communion, then Sheila quietly said, "I'd love to hang them, now. I think we should." When both men silently nodded, she took Cheryl's ornament from Claude and stood.

They all moved over to the tree but Sheila and Berger held back, let Claude hang his ornament first. He examined the tree for a moment, seemed to be considering the best placement for it. Finally, he picked a spot and carefully hung the ornament.

Berger couldn't help a soft smile at the appropriateness of that placement. Claude may not have realized it, but he'd put his ornament just left of the center of the tree... where the tree's heart would be, if it had one. Berger walked over and gave the man a tight squeeze. It _was_ appropriate for Claude's ornament to be the heart of their tree... because he was certainly the heart of their family. Berger leaned past him, hung the white knight with calm certainty immediately to the right of Claude's ornament. He couldn't have explained why, except that he knew that their ornaments belonged near each other... to protect each other.

Sheila stepped up beside them, eyed the two ornaments for a moment, then smiled. She placed her own ornament above their two and halfway between them, for just as Claude was their heart and Berger their protective right hand, so too was Sheila their mind. Once they'd had a moment to stare at the three ornaments together, Sheila added the final touch and placed Cheryl's angel in the spot exactly between the other three.

Claude couldn't tear his eyes away from those four ornaments. There was such a feeling of import to this occasion, such a strong feeling of family wrapped up in the mere fact of that tree, strung up with lights and the beginnings of a family collection of ornaments. It was cheesy and a little ridiculous, but standing here with Cheryl in his arms, Berger and Sheila resting their heads against his shoulders and Berger's family around them... suddenly it felt like everything was going to be all right. He didn't know how, he didn't know when, but it _was_ all going to be all right. Cheryl fisted her hands in Claude's shirt, snuggled her head under his chin and made a happy, sleepy little cooing noise. Sheila immediately held up a hand to stroke her head. She just snuggled closer.

This... Good G-d, **this**. Being part of a family, no matter how nontraditional, sharing the joy of raising this precious child, this boundless feeling of love... this was what Claude had wanted all those years ago, what he'd craved from his own family and never quite gotten. But here, with Berger, with Sheila... with Cheryl, he finally had it. He'd had it all along.

As in tune with Claude's feelings as he always was these days, Berger leaned closer and pressed a gentle kiss to Claude's cheek. Then softly, he whispered into Claude's ear, "Welcome home, Claudio... Welcome home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**
> 
> Finally. ^_^ The end.
> 
> Berger: *gapes* Oh no. Nonono. That is _not_ the end.
> 
> Jeanie: D: I agree! That is **not** the end. That **can not** be the end.
> 
> R-chan: *sweatdrop* Of this fic! Sheesh, guys. Give a girl a break, huh? I never said there wasn't going to be a sequel!
> 
> Berger: *pause* Ooooooh... A seeeeeeequel.
> 
> Jeanie: *narrows eyes* Mm-hmm. I see.
> 
> R-chan: *eyes widen at Jeanie* *little voice* Has anyone told you that you're kind of scary now that you're a mom?
> 
> Jeanie: *feral grin* I believe it's been mentioned once or twice, actually. Yes. And who's fault exactly is that, hmm?
> 
> R-chan: *sweatrain* *littler voice* Mine...?
> 
> Jeanie: That's right. Yours. So what are you going to do about it?
> 
> R-chan: *squeaks* Get started working on that sequel, now?
> 
> Jeanie: *slow smile* *nods*
> 
> R-chan: *squeaks again* *runs off*
> 
> Berger: *stares at Jeanie* *_* *_* Seriously, Jeanie... I love you so hard, right now.
> 
> Jeanie: ^_^
> 
> Claude: *wobble eyes* Me, too!
> 
> Jeanie: *gapes at Claude*
> 
> Claude: *sweatdrop* Oops. Oh shit. Sorry... Sorry... I'll just... I'll just go now...
> 
> Jeanie: *gets a gleam in her eyes as she stares off in Claude's direction, then turns to stare after the fic author* *rubs hands together* I'll just go see about moving her along a little faster, then, shall I? *stalks off after the chibi*
> 
> Berger: *_* *_* *_* *_* _Really_ love you right now, Jeanie. That's all I'm saying. **Really** love you. *_* *_* *_* *_*
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed it! ^_^

**Author's Note:**

> Completely unbeta'ed by anyone but myself. Any and all remaining mistakes are mine. These days, you can find me hanging out on tumblr at [eirenical](http://eirenical.tumblr.com), so feel free to stop by and visit! ^_^


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